Scenes
by FaylinnNorse
Summary: A series of RobinMarian scenes from my own imagination, most will likely be rather angsty. R&R please!
1. Duties

Well, this is my first ever Robin Hood fanfic and since I know next to nothing about the time period, but am rather in love with Robin/Marian ship, this isn't going to be a real story, but a collection of shippy scenes from my own personal fandom. So each chapter will be just a different, random scene with them doing something or other. Maybe a few will be two chapters or so; we'll see. Note: this is not based on the BBC tv show or the movie or, well, anything except my own knowledge and imagination of Robin Hood.

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Robin sighed. "I'm no hero, Marian, I killed a man, whether by accident or no. And now I'm just doing this, because...I don't even know why!" He gave a rather frustrated laugh, raising his hands into the air with a shrug. "Perhaps God ordained it."

A smile played on her lips for a moment as she gazed at him. His arms were still tensing, fingers gripping his longbow tightly, though there was no danger. No one would find them there, sitting on the rocks of the shore of the lake. _Their_ lake, she liked to think of it, because she hardly ever came their except with him. She wasn't sure if he thought of it the same way or not, but she hoped that he did, though perhaps he never thought of it at all; it had been so long since they'd come here. They'd used to, all the time, before he was an outlaw, before things were complicated. She raised her eyes back to his face; his brows arched in a frown, considering his life, no doubt, how he could be better. "But that's what a hero _is_, Robin," she said at last. "Someone who's there when their needed, ready to answer God's call."

He glanced at her, sighing again, and running a hand through his unruly hair. "I suppose so, I just—I don't _feel_ like a hero. In fact I feel like I've messed everything up! It's all I can do, to try and help the people and take care of my men."

"Perhaps you're too much of a perfectionist," Marian replied, sliding off the smooth rock with a smile. Her bare feet landed lightly on the soft sand and she wiggled her toes, feeling it squish between them, enjoying it immensely. She never got to do things like this anymore, not with Father pressing her to marry, with everyone pressing her to be a lady, expecting too much of her, in her own opinion. She whirled around to face Robin suddenly her skirt twirling out around her. "Will you dance with me, Robin?" she asked him.

He looked startled at this question and slightly confused, so she went on quickly, "I haven't danced with you in so long, Robin. You can't come to the dances in town and when the bards play the fiddle in Sherwood you're always so busy, and I just miss you and well, the way things were." She said this all in a rush, hardly daring to glance at Robin, let alone watch for his reaction. _She_ knew she loved him, but perhaps he didn't, or perhaps he didn't love her back and she certainly didn't want him to think—she glanced up at him finally, to see his gazed fixed on her, with a rather amused expression on his face. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

"Certainly," he spoke, setting his bow down carefully and rising from his rock, saving her from any further embarrassment. He made his way towards her swiftly; his left arm seemed to almost glide around her waist as his right slipped around hers.

She hesitantly placed her left hand on his shoulder as they stepped off.

"So you miss dancing with me, Marian?" he said, with a slight grin. His dark eyes met her gaze mischievously. She'd never felt so exposed.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, Robin," she replied, staring back at him with a squared jaw. "But I'm sure I'm not the only one," she went on teasingly. "As I remember, there were a great many maidens in Nottingham mourning the loss of the handsome Robin of Loxley."

Robin's smile seemed to fade suddenly. "Aye, but many would rejoice in the loss of Robin Hood of Sherwood, I'm sure," he said glumly.

Marian immediately regretted mentioning his past title. "Well, I wouldn't. And neither would Much, or Little John, or Will, or any of them," she said, in an attempt to make him feel better. It didn't appear to be working. She sighed. "Do you miss it that much?"

He glanced into her eyes. "Not my title and my estate so much as my honor. I don't like being regarded as a thief and a troublemaker."

Marian bit her lip. "But—you do _good_, Robin. You help people. They love you, Robin, _I—_" she broke off, seeing that her point was moot. He wasn't listening. He doubted himself too much, was too humble to realize that everyone who had a lick of sense knew he was a hero. "I miss those days, too," she said at last. "When you didn't have so much to worry about and we could do things together. Climb those trees in the back of Father's estate, run around in the forest, come here." She smiled at the memory. "Today's been better, though, with you and me. Almost like old times."

Robin nodded his agreement, eyes intently focused on her. "Those were good times. Today, was a good time." He was silent a moment before going on, "It's not the same, though, is it? I have too much to think about, too much to lose."

She shook her head. "That's why I miss it, Robin. It used to be just you and me, friends." She gave a sad smile.

He pursed his lip suddenly. "Marian—I always be your friend, you know that don't you? I'll always be here for you, if you need me."

"Just a friend, Robin?" she asked, dipping her head down even as she spoke. It was bold to say, but she wanted it so bad, wanted him, not just as the friend who would always be there for her, but couldn't_ really _be there.

"Marian..." he was saying when she looked up again. He looked upset, pained almost. "You know I can't...I'm an outlaw, Marian. You're a lady."

She nodded, tasting the same bittersweet feeling she always got when being around him. He was always like that, the perfect friend, nothing more and nothing less. Sometimes she wished he would just tell her to get over him, to be rude to her for once. Then maybe she could forget about him, she could move on. But she knew she didn't want to move on, not really.

"Marian—"

"I'm fine," she interrupted whatever he was going to say to her. She smiled brightly and oh-so-fakely, to wave off any worry he had about her. It was his duty to have sense and tell her they could never be; it was hers to pretend she didn't care.

They stepped again, still dancing, and she tripped, falling sideways into the water and pulling Robin down with her. Laughing, she splashed him, and he splashed back, until they could almost forget their feelings and conversations of duty.


	2. Simple

Wow, it took me a long time to put another one of these up...I wrote several...halves of several of them but didn't really finish any. I'll try to get doing that...I didn't really have time to edit, so if you see mistakes, please point them out! And, as always, review!

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She drew the bow back, gracefully stretching the string taut, with her elbow at the same heighth as her shoulder. She released it carefully and the arrow propelled out through the air, striking the target on the big oak tree just slightly below his own. 

She sighed and dropped the bow to the ground, letting it fall into the crisp leaves, sticking her tongue out at him slightly. "Well, you win."

He laughed a bit. She'd been bragging that she could beat him at archery all week, so today they'd finally held a contest. She was close, but not close enough. "I'm sorry, Marian. I really did think you had a chance."

"Sure you did."

"Well, come on, boys, pay up," Little John was saying, his hands outstretched.

Will and Alan were groaning, their hands groping in their pockets for some coins. They'd bet on Marian for winning, no doubt, more on hope than anything else. Who wouldn't want to see the Lady Marian put _Robin Hood_ to shame with _archery_, of all things?

Marian sighed again and took a few steps closer to him, crossing her arms across her chest with mock anger. "I'll beat you next time, Robin, I will. You'd better watch out."

He nodded with a subdued grin, watching the teasing smile flit across her face as she tried and failed to hide it. "I hope you do, Marian, really I do. It wasn't a bad shot, anyway," he said, turning again to glance again at the target. His arrow was on the bullseye, hers just barely off. She really _was _good. "If it had been against anyone else..." he trailed off and shrugged, with just a hint of arrogance.

She rolled her eyes at him, making a wide circle above her head. "I would have beat them, like that," she snapped her fingers. "No competition to speak of."

He laughed then, for real, not trying at all to hide it. It was times like these he enjoyed, with Marian, and the rest of them, just enjoying themselves. No danger and no worries, just them. He could forget that Marian was a lady and far, far out of his league. They were friends; he could almost pretend that...but he wouldn't go that far.

"Robin?" Marian was asking, a small frown arching her brows. "Are you alright?"

He realized that he'd stopped laughing and had probably been simply staring at her, with a goofy smile on his face. He laughed at that, too. Why not, why worry on a day like today? "I'm fine, Marian. I was just thinking," he replied at last. "Let's go back to the lodge, boys," he called, glancing over his shoulder at Little John and Will and Alan, still having some sort of argument over their bet. He turned to start walking.

"Thinking about what?" Marian asked, merrily skipping into step beside him.

"Nothing you need to know about," he said, glancing sideways at her. Her hair looked pretty in the sunlight; it brought out the more reddish tints from the brown. Gosh, but she was beautiful.

"But what if I want to know about it?" she asked him playfully, her eyes practically sparkling, or at least, _he_ thought so. But she was his Marian.

"Well, that would just be too bad, wouldn't it?"

Her mouth curled into a feint pout, though the corners kept rising up into more of a smile. She seemed to be unable to look unhappy for very long today. "But Robin..." she was saying, complaining to him. She was always trying to find ways to find out everything he was thinking about. He'd gladly tell her, if it was anything but this.

"I—" he started to say, but stopped, suddenly. There was a whooshing, whistling sound, coming from the trees on Marian's other side. An arrow flying, quickly, without warning. A multitude of images bombarded his brain immediately. Of Marian, on the ground, bleeding, an arrow in her chest. Of Marian, sick, dying of infection from the thing. Of Marian dead, being put in her dark grave. Of himself, of Sherwood, of Nottingham, without Marian. He'd be alone, and at the moment, he felt that the whole world would be alone, the whole world would be empty without Marian. He couldn't let that happen.

So he stepped in front of her, shoving her quickly behind him.

"Robin!" he heard her scream briefly, shrieking at the top of her lungs, likely, but it sounded distant and far away, like it was swept away by the wind.

He couldn't let her die. It was that simple. She was more important than he was, that was all that mattered. It almost surprised him, the simplicity of the matter. He'd always known, somehow, that he loved her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the knowledge had been there. But it had always seemed more...complicated before, more difficult to comprehend. Now it was easy. He cared more about her being alive than about himself being alive.

Of course, then Little John came diving into both of them, knocking them all to the ground. "Are you mad?" he was shouting. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

Robin just looked at him, feeling rather dazed. He looked at Marian across Little John's shoulder. She was looking at him as well, eyes wide, face gone white.

Little John looked from him to her and back again. "Well, I see I'm getting no answers out of you two," he said at last, getting to his feet and disentangling himself from them both. He attempted to brush some of the leaves and dirt from his clothing. It didn't seem to work very well.

Marian stood up as well and he did the same, without hardly even knowing he was doing it. "The arrow...?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Marian.

"Oh, that," John said, grumbling and rolling his eyes slightly. "Alan was being an idiot. He was never very good with a bow. I'm considering never letting him touch another one."

Marian smiled slightly at the comment, though it looked weak—dazed still. They both were.

"Robin! Marian! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I—I," Alan came running out of the trees all of the sudden, from the direction of the arrow, panting hard and groping for an explanation. Will was following him, shaking his head and looking concerned.

Robin watched him for a moment, silent.

He eventually stopped trying to talk and stared determinedly at the ground, his face rather red, either from running or embarrassment.

"It's fine, Alan," he said at last. "At least...at least no one was hurt. Just—be more careful next time, please." He glanced at Marian, who gave another faint smile, swallowing rather hard. "Now let's go back to the lodge," he said again. "And don't mess with the bows, Alan."

"Yes, sir," Alan replied, saluting slightly, as though Robin were his commander, rather than his friend.

They turned and began walking again, all in a line now, none lagging farther behind. It was quiet, except for the sound of the leaves, crunching beneath their feet.

"Robin," Marian spoke quietly, at his side once again, though not so lighthearted as before.

He glanced down at her. "Yes, Marian?"

"You...you almost just...died for me. If Little John hadn't...the arrow would have..."

He nodded, turning again and looking ahead at the looming trees, their trunks huge and their leaves scattering to the forest floor. Marian was still watching him. "I had to," he said at last. "It was simple."

She watched him a moment more, her eyes resting on him. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, but he wouldn't look at her. After a moment she nodded and faced forward again. It didn't matter what was unspoken between them, it only mattered that it was there, simple and true.


	3. A Letter

Dear Robin,

I am probably going to end up blotting out most of this letter and replacing it with dull and tedious facts of my life, but said in a witty way that will hopefully make you laugh. But at the moment, I don't really feel quite up to balancing that line of dull and amusing, so I'm going to be blunt with you.

You understand, don't you? I mean, half the time you go about laughingly forcing the high and mighty Norman lords to give you all their money as they pass through the forest, but the rest of the time you're serious and worried and frowning and moping about being and outlaw with all your honor gone and how you ought to be doing a better job protecting your men and the people of England.

So here I am, me, being blunt. I'm completely in love with you, Robin. Don't laugh. No, you wouldn't laugh; you'd look at me with a horrified expression and start slowly backing away, murmuring excuses why you can't love me back. But that's why I'm telling you in a letter, a letter you'll never read for the majority.

Robin, I miss you. Lots. I see you at least twice a week, if not more, but I wonder, do you see me? Or are you lost in your duties and your trees and everything else? I suppose it's better that way, because you're right. You're always right.

It makes me so angry sometimes, how right you are. That's probably why we fight so much. I just want to yell at you for being so sensible, and tell you to stop it all and just tell me how completely and utterly in love with me you are. Oh dear, Robin. I really am a lost cause.

Sometimes I think you should forget your duties and only think of me. I go to a different world when I leave my father's estate and the proprieties of society to come to Sherwood. I feel apt to losing myself amongst the towering trees, and I don't think I'd ever find me again. It's so different there, with the bards fiddling away and your men always laughing and practicing shooting and people coming and going.

Then I have to go to back to the real world, where no one is so merry and everyone says exactly what they don't mean in soft voices, all the while smiling as they imply the most dreadful insults. It's suffocating. I don't think you understand, far away in your forest.

I want to be with you, Robin. I want to leave the insincerity of the rich and live with you in Sherwood Forest and forget about the world. You make me feel happy and alive again, not confined to estates and stations in life. You make me feel like myself. And that's why I yell at you, Robin, because after all that you tell me to act sensibly and hint at how we could never be.

I admire you for it, though. I wouldn't want you to think that I don't. I like to think that you're heroic in that you are completely in love with me and yet deny me because you know it to be the right thing to do. Sadly, I can't make that assumption. I admire you anyway, though, because you give up everything for your men and your king and country. You let people say what they will about you and protect them anyway, no matter how horrid they make your reputation.

That's why I love you, Robin, and respect you more than anyone else I know. You have more honor and have made more sacrifices than any other man in England. So no matter how many times you refuse to even acknowledge my flirtations, I remain, forever, in love with you.

I will blot that all out shortly. Now, to the real issues at hand.

I told everyone in town the most lovely story about you today, Robin. You know how greatly I enjoy telling the world of your incredible feats. I told them how you singlehandedly saved seven children from a raging fire, lit by the Normans, of course, because their parents couldn't pay their taxes.

It was really very brave of you, Robin dear. You merely swept into their crumbling house and carried them out one by one. Or perhaps it was two by two. I don't remember now. And you were very nearly killed yourself by the horrid fire. You got some minor burns on your hands. Do you have any burns on your hands, Robin? Some villagers might look for some, if they ever see you.

And before you scribble back to me that I should stop spreading such gregarious rumors about you, read the rest of the letter. The story isn't entirely not true. You remember when you told me about that burning house you were near? You saved those four children lingering nearby, almost crushed by that burning column that was about to fall on them.

So see, it's not completed unfounded. Just exaggerated, and the story would have gotten exaggerated anyhow. Everyone exaggerates things these days; I merely started the story off with grandeur. And don't write back calling me a gossip-monger, because I think I might cry.

I'm going to be blunt with you again. And again, cross it out most likely. But Robin, please, don't reprimand me for the stories I spread. I need my stories, Robin. They're all I'll ever get of you. I know I can't have you, and I won't ever have you; you've nearly told me as much. But I can have your stories and spread your marvelous reputation all over England.

You don't know what they say about you, Robin. Some of it is horrible, and it makes me so angry! You're a good man, and I want the world to know. Some of them do. You're some people's hero, Robin, lots of people. All the poor people you've helped, they were oppressed and in desperation. Now they have something to hope for. I want the rest of them to know. So I spread stories about you. Don't try to stop me, please, Robin.

Anyhow, it was a good story, and my audience listened attentively. Then I had dinner with my father and Sir Guy of Gisbourne. It was rather dull, and afterwards Guy walked with me around the estate. He's a fair conversationalist. Not remarkable, but he does pay attention to what I say, unlike some people I know who are a bit preoccupied in saving all the Saxons in the world.

Not that I mind, Robin. It's actually rather amusing how I can say nearly anything to you and you merely nod demurely. Though occasionally you'll afterward stop and give me an odd look, and I laugh.

I'll come to Sherwood on Thursday, I think, if I can get away. I am having a brunch with Lady Georgiana, and then I am free the rest of the day. Perhaps we could have a rematch on our archery contest? But make Will and Alan and John join in, so I can beat them at least before being overrun by your magnificent shot.

I'm sending this letter by way of my stable boy; I think I'll tell him to gather walnuts for me in the forest. Please don't frighten him too much, Robin; you can often be rather overbearing when you come across unaccompanied fellows in the forest. He's a good boy; I want him back with all of his faculties.

With all sincerity,  
Marian Fitzgerald


	4. Loyalty

"A hero, like yourself, Robin, needn't always be so...alone."

His finger caught on the page he was touching, fumbling as he tried to to turn it. He felt the edge slice uncomfortably down his skin, stinging as it cut. Wincing, he glanced up quizzically at the Lady Rose in front of him. She was staring quite earnestly at him, blue eyes solemn and her mouth curled into something of a pout.

"I...don't know what you mean," he muttered awkwardly, glancing back down at her father's records and lifting a hand to run it through his hair. He studied the bold, black writing against the light, cream pages, all in perfectly straight, blockish lines. Rose and her father had agreed to help him and his men with supplies, but in studying the records, he wasn't finding anything they could be particularly helpful with.

It was odd enough that any Normans would volunteer to help them. He didn't like it. He didn't want help from Normans; they were well enough on their own, chopping down their trees, and hunting the king's deer, and going hungry for weeks on end. Oh, alright, perhaps there were some benefits to be had from having Norman friends. But their estate was too close to other Norman estates, which made them too close to other Norman lords, which made them too close to death and tyranny, in his mind.

But Marian said they were good people. He trusted Marian. He only wished she hadn't insisted on coming along and then run off with Will and Alan, to get into who knows what kind of trouble. He didn't want her involved; if they got caught by anyone else, it would be a narrow escape. Anyone that was riding by would be liable to see them. But Marian always did what she pleased, and heaven knew he couldn't stop her.

"Robin," Rose uttered his name again, slowly and delicately, "you must get tired of fighting always. You must wish for some better company than your men."

He looked up again, impatiently. He was about to utter that his men were actually rather good company, and Sherwood was actually a rather comfortable place, as long as it wasn't raining and the wind wasn't blowing too hard, wreaking havoc as it tore down their lodge...but she was looking at him oddly.

She kept fingering her golden hair and smoothing her red, velvety dress. She was unnerving him. Looking him over like...like sizing up a piece of meat. He took an involuntary step backward.

"Robin...I'm always here, you know," she said, casting her eyes downward. She looked up through long lashes, and her lips curved into a slight smile as a pink blush spread from her neck, up to her face. "With Father, I mean. You could visit us, you know. You're always welcome."

Ah, so that was it. Marian had told him that there were some women who practically wanted to marry him and became quite giddy when his name was so much as mentioned. He stepped back toward the table and rested his hand on the book, hearing Marian laughing at him in his head. _Well, that was handled well. Just back away like a cornered animal, Robin. _

"Do you not find me attractive, Robin?"

He stared. "It's—it's not that," he stuttered. He looked at her more. No, it certainly wasn't that. She was...well, beautiful. She had a good figure, he supposed, and lovely eyes and hair and...it was just that he couldn't stop thinking of someone else's eyes. A dark, soft brown. And someone else's hair. A coppery color, red brought out of the brown by the sunlight. And her bright, teasing smile.

"Is there someone else, someone your loyalty lies with?" Rose asked, looking at him with something close to offense.

He looked up, not realizing that he'd been staring at the floor. He considered the question. Did his loyalty lie with Marian? She was lady; he was an outlaw. She...wasn't his to be loyal to, but he was, he supposed. He never looked at anyone else, not the way he looked at her. He looked at Rose, now. She _was _beautiful. And he wondered, for a fleeting moment, if there was any use waiting for something he'd never have.

"Robin!" there was a shriek from outside, Marian's voice, echoing through the air.

Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed to the window. Marian was out there, with Will and Alan and even Little John, with men behind each of them, holding them still with daggers pressed tightly against their necks. He considered pulling his bow out then and there and shooting the man behind Marian at least. But if the man heard the arrow, he could kill her as he went down, and the others would be sure to kill the rest of them. No, he had to think rationally.

He practically jumped out the window. It was perhaps not the most rational choice, but it got him where he wanted to be and quickly. He climbed down the wall, partially, but mostly just propelled himself to the ground, and fell to his knees hard at the bottom. He winced but scrambled up quickly, breathing hard.

"Well, if it isn't Robin Hood," came a suave voice from his right.

He turned and saw a large, dark-haired man, dressed like a nobleman with velvety black clothes and leather gloves. The man looked slightly foreign, and he didn't recognize him. Just someone else trying to kill him for the bounty money, probably. That's what they all did, but it was easy to get rid of them in Sherwood. There, he'd have dozens of men waiting from the high branches above, ready to jump down on any intruder, and it was easy enough for him to disappear in the thick tangles of brush. He could find a hiding spot to take out his bow and shoot from there.

Not here, though. They were too much in the open, with nothing but the house and fields all around. They were idiots to come here, especially with Marian. If anyone recognized her and got away, both she and her father were done for, though the old man knew nothing of her escapades.

"Cat got your tongue, Robin?" the man from his left asked, watching him with an amused expression. "Well, it doesn't matter much. All you need to do is come with us into town, for your hanging. Then we'll let them all go. If you try to escape, however..." he trailed off and moved his finger in a sharp line in front of his throat, indicating what the fate of his friends would be if he didn't cooperate.

It wasn't much of a choice. He pondered it for about a moment or two, trying to find a third choice more than actually trying to make up his mind. His mind was already made up, of course. He couldn't sacrifice Marian, or any of his men's lives to save his own. He would do everything he could to save any of them, and if that meant he hung, well, then he hung. Maybe he could find an escape from the jail cell once they got there.

He was about to shrug his arms in defeat, when he noticed Marian was looking at him oddly. He met her eyes, and was surprised by her fierce gaze. She glanced at the man beside him and shook her head, almost indiscernibly. She stared him in the eye again, then looked downward. He followed her eyes, realizing that she and all the rest of them were staring at him oddly, and he was more than readily armed.

He had two different daggers fastened at his belt and two knives besides that, down by his boots. His bow for himself, at his back, and they could all have their own weapons. But it was still a risky situation; to ensure everyone's safety, they'd have to get their weapons almost at the exact same moment, and dispatch of the men at their backs quickly. There wasn't an easy way of doing that. He could only throw two weapons at once, and that meant two of them would have to wait. Waiting could take their lives, and he couldn't have that.

Marian was still watching him. Her dark eyes were fixed strongly on him, watching with intensity. He frowned, and she smiled slightly, though it was more of a twitching. She wiggled around slightly in the arms of her captor, raising her right arm and shifting to the left.

She received a tighter hold around her waist for that and the dagger pressed a more firmly into her throat, but he saw what she wanted him to see. The man holding her had another knife, resting in its shield at his waist, and her hands held tightly to the hilt, ready to pull it out and stab it backwards.

"Well, make your choice, man!"

Robin pursed his lips. Surprise and distraction would have to be their advantage. Marian could take care of her man, while he tossed weapons. One of them would have to wait, probably Alan, in the middle. And he'd have to hit the men holding Will and Little John; there was no way they'd be able to catch, but they could take it from there, as long as he made a good hit. Then he'd pull an arrow and shoot the leader. He glanced around. There were horses, in the field not too far away. They could make a quick getaway into the forest.

It was still so dangerous. One false step, and it was all over. He hated situations like this. He liked being in Sherwood, where he had the advantage. Marian was smiling at him slightly, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. She seemed to almost be enjoying the situation, but she grew serious when she saw him frowning.

"Trust me," she mouthed the words, imploring with her eyes and soft smile. "I trust you." He could almost hear her saying it, with just that hint of reproach.

He sighed and relented with a tiny nod. "I choose..." he began, and put his hands on the daggers at his waist, gripping them tightly. Glancing at Marian one last time, he pulled them out and threw them hard, then reached for another from his boot. Simultaneously, Marian pulled the dagger behind her out of its sheath, and shoved it backward into the stomach of the man behind her. He fell back, groaning.

Marian took the dagger back, to help Allan who was struggling with the man behind him, having received his knife late. Will and Little John seemed to be faring fine, and Robin swiftly pulled out his bow and notched an arrow. "I choose neither," he said to the incredulous man, as he released the string.

He heard the arrow hit, but didn't pay attention to where or how bad the wound would be, instead turning quickly to Marian beside him. "Come on!" he yelled, grabbing hold of her arm. "To the horses!"

Will, Allan, and Little John were already running. They made it to the field quickly and swung up onto the chestnut horses, taking just three. Marian rode with him, and in a few moments, they were galloping wildly into the forest, not caring to even glance behind; they only wanted out of there.

Before long, they were back within the safety of the greenwood. The trees were towering and tall, and the thick greenery would serve to hide them from anyone who might come looking. He jumped off the horse and held out a hand to help Marian down, before handing the reins off to Will. They'd be returned, later.

"You were awfully quick in tumbling out the window after I screamed your name," Marian observed with an amused smile, as they started to walk back towards the lodge.

"Well, you were awfully quick in thinking when I was going to let them hang me," he said with a shrug.

"So we all have something we're quick at, is that what you're saying?" she asked, raising here eyebrows at him.

"Perhaps it is."

She smiled and kept walking, facing forward again. Then she turned towards him again, her smile growing slightly more serious as she stopped walking.

He stopped beside her. "Marian?"

She watched him for a moment, biting her lip, then took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "Thank you, Robin," she said earnestly, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, and for trusting me." Then, with a complete loss of austerity, "I'm glad they didn't hang you." She laughed merrily and walked forward again, leaving him standing alone.

He smiled to himself, laughed a bit and shook his head. He looked Marian, walking under the green leaves, wind blowing through her hair. And he decided that some things were worth waiting for, even if he never got them.


	5. Reality

Lightning update! Just one day! That's really amazing for me, especially on this story where they've all been like months apart. You can thank me in your **review.**

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She stared into the forest. The trees grew tall; green leaves and thick branches were extended high into the air. Her eyes followed them all the way up to their tips where they reached up as if they were trying to touch the sky. Sometimes she wished she could do the same thing. Touch the sky. Get out of here for once and just leave it all behind.

Or maybe just run into the forest and live as an outlaw. She bit her lip, mouth curling into a smile, thinking of that. She did it often enough, but she could never stay. Sometimes it seemed like Robin was the lucky one, unburdened by society.

She scanned the thick limbs and brush now, for any sign of him. She wouldn't see him; she knew that much. He'd never venture this close to her father's estate, not while there were people around. Still, searching the forest for him had become a habit, evolved from being startled a few too many times when unruly men jumped out of the trees to greet her.

"He's not real, Marian."

She whirled around to face Guy, standing off from a few paces behind. His black eyes watched her with something curiosity mingled with annoyance, the way you watch someone who has something you don't, with a wondering type of jealousy. It pleased her to think she had something Guy didn't, Guy of Gisbourne, who could have the world if he wanted it. Well, he couldn't have her. She was holding out for...someone better.

"Who's not real, Guy?" she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly. "No one I know, I hope," she added, the corners of her mouth turning upward with amusement.

The man rolled his eyes and took a few steps toward her. "Your Robin Hood," he said, gesturing towards the forest. "He's a legend, a childhood fantasy, nothing more."

A childhood fantasy? Robin was no more that than Guy was a horse. Though she had to admit Guy bore some semblance, there was really no comparison. Still, there was no need to get angry. She could toy with Guy for a while longer, maybe even hear him out. "Well, I'm not sure how you figure that," she began, walking around him in a circle, posture straight and erect with her hands behind her back. "If I recall correctly, it was Robin Hood who bested you last month at Nottingham Fair. Did you lose out to a childhood fantasy? I pity you, Guy, really I do."

He frowned, and the expression took almost his whole face, it seemed. His brow furrowed, deep wrinkles forming on his forehead; his eyes darkened, and his mouth grew tight. At last he stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her still with a tight grip, like steel.

She couldn't back away. She couldn't move; he was stronger than she was, and he wasn't letting go. She hadn't expected this; he was always harping on her about Robin, but he never bothered her with more than words. Now he had a death grip on her, and she could feel each of his fingers, pressing in on her skin, probably bruising her shoulders.

Still, she didn't really think he would hurt her. He was a man of some honor, if not much, and he wanted to court her, not kill her. He was just jealous. And let him be jealous; Robin would always be there if she needed him. Guy could never harm her.

"Marian, you know what I mean. Let go of him," he said. His voice was tight and controlled.

She stared at the forest, watching for some sign of movement that wasn't the wind or any deer or squirrels. It was only habit, but she hoped he'd come. She didn't care if Guy had more than an inkling that she associated with Robin. He could have proof for all she cared; she just wanted Robin, here, now.

"Marian, look at me!" he shouted, louder now.

Drawing a breath, she slowly turned her eyes to his. She was surprised by the rage in them, the unsuppressed anger just looking for something—or someone—to spring on. "Let go of who, Guy?" she asked quietly. "You're the one holding me."

"It's time you let go of your childhood infatuation. He doesn't care for you. He can't care for you; he has too many other things on his mind. He cares for England and Saxon honor, nothing else," he spat the word—Saxon.

Saxon. Norman. It was what separated them all. Sometimes she wished she could go away, somewhere where people were just people. Saxons wouldn't be mistreated by the Normans; Normans wouldn't be hated by the Saxons. They could all just live.

That was what Robin wanted, too, but they couldn't have that, so he took a realistic approach. He stood up for the Saxons. He stood up for those who were oppressed and beaten and broken. She admired him for that. But in a way, she knew...Guy was right. Robin would fight for England with the last breath in his body, and if he never got to be with her...well, then he never got to be with her. That was all there was to it. He probably never even thought on it.

"When the king comes—" she started, with another solution. When the king came back, everything would be alright. He'd set England right again, and she and Robin...but Guy cut her off before she could finish.

"Richard isn't coming back from the Crusades, Marian." He spoke quieter now, calmly. Like he was explaining something difficult to a child. It made her angry; she wasn't a child, and Robin wasn't just a childhood infatuation! She loved him!

"King Richard _will_ come back, Guy!" she shouted now, forcefully spitting out the words, emphasizing every syllable. "And Robin Hood will preserve England until he does."

Now Guy gave the amused smile, shaking his head lightly. "Robin Hood will hang like the criminal he is. And his last thoughts will be the pathetic wishes of a Saxon dog, not to be with you."

Even angrier now, she raised her arm, forcing it upward even through Guy's hold, pulling back. She was surprised by how easy it was; she could move her arm almost freely. She swung forward to slap him—and fell forward to the ground as he stepped out of the way.

Wincing, she pushed herself up onto her knees. She brushed the dirt off of her face, feeling her hands stinging, with tiny pebbles and pieces of twigs pressed into her skin. Sweeping her hands together, most of them fell off, though a few remained for her to scrape out with her fingernails.

If Robin had been there, he would have caught her. Or even better, he wouldn't have let Guy touch her in the first place. He could challenge him, or simply swipe out an arrow and hold his bow taut and aimed. Guy wouldn't stand a chance. She wouldn't be bruised or scratched if Robin had been there.

But Robin wasn't there, and Guy stood towering above her still. He reached his hand down to her, offering to help pull her to her feet. Reluctantly, she took his hand, and he easily pulled her up. She needed help, and Robin...well, he wasn't there to help her.

He was busy, and he couldn't put himself or his men in jeopardy by coming to her. Still, she scanned the edge of the forest, eyes searching for any sign of movement. It was just habit. Or maybe wishful thinking.

"I'm sorry, Marian," Guy said softly. "It wasn't my place, and I didn't mean for you to fall."

She looked at him, at his solemn, dark eyes. He seemed to mean what he said and was over his anger, back to wanting to court her. She nodded her forgiveness, still smoothing down her skirt, eyes skimming through the trees. She felt awkward and out of place now, and she wasn't sure why.

"Should we go back to the manor?" Guy asked, watching her with worried eyes.

She glanced at him again, taking in the question. Back to the manor, away from the forest. Away from Robin, but he was never there to begin with. Somehow, it seemed...wrong to think that she could be hurt and then have to just go on anyway, without Robin there to make it better. She wished he was there.

Finally, she nodded her assent, and Guy took her arm, leading her away from the trees and towards the large, stony grey manor. She took one last glance back, though, through the dark, closely twined trees. Looking for Robin, out of habit, but Robin wasn't there.


	6. Bitter

And another depressing chapter...it was supposed to be edgy, but I think the mood mostly came out as morose. Oh, well! Review it, please?

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The cloth was damp in his fingers, cool on his skin and Marian's, likely. He ran it slowly across her pale cheek, wiping away the small drops of beaded red blood. His fingers fumbled slightly as they brushed her warm, soft skin, seemingly unable to function quite properly afterward.

The firelight from across the room played against them both, and the whole room, he supposed, but he mainly only noticed on her. Her skin seemed to turn golden like honey in the dim orange light and her hair changed from the normal brown to red copper. And her eyes, her beautiful, beautiful eyes, catching his own even as he concentrated on the blood. They were surprisingly soft and solemn in the dim lighting, gazing upward at his own face, which seemed unnervingly close to hers. He could feel her warm breath blowing softly against his skin.

He dropped the rag. Feeling more foolish than ever, he bent to pick it off the earthen floor, expecting to hear some jab at his clumsiness, or at least catch a hint of laughter on her lips.

Her expression remained unchanged, however, still regarding him solemnly, with those eyes like she was taking in everything about him, and he was falling into her gaze and unsure of whether he could pull himself out again.

The moment was...perfect. He was comfortable in the quiet of the room, away from the rest of his louder, rowdy men, and yet he was entirely uncomfortable at the same. He was out in the open with Marian, feeling like she could see everything about him, but perhaps that was alright, because he could see her, too, and she was...beautiful.

He felt like he ought to say something to complete the moment, but he wasn't sure what, so he simply applied himself even more diligently to cleaning the cut on her cheek, just under her eye. He squeezed the water out gently, letting it seep into the opening, to clean it and guard it from infection.

"It's only a scratch, Robin," she spoke at last in a soft voice, barely above a whisper.

Starting slightly, with a once again fumbling hand, he looked at her, taking a step back. She was right, truly. It was hardly more than a red mark, and if it had been on him, he wouldn't have taken another glance at it. But it was Marian, and Marian wasn't supposed to ever get hurt. He was supposed to be protect her.

"A scratch maybe, but a scratch you didn't have before you came fighting with us, and one you wouldn't have if you had stayed home. I told you it would be dangerous. What will you tell your father?"

Immediately after he had got done speaking, he had the feeling it was the wrong thing to say. He'd spoken to loud, shattered the comfort in quiet, and Marian's eyes flashed away from him, turning to the fire and then back, but now with a harder bite to them, an almost challenging intensity.

"I'll tell him my horse went wild, galloping into the tree branches before I fell off and was lost in the forest. It's near enough to the truth."

"It's not, though," he replied, clenching his jaw. Sometimes he wished their relationship wasn't built entirely upon lies and deceit. He wished he could meet her properly, out in the open, rather than see her sneak away to meet him, lying to her father all the while. He wished he could...marry her, properly, with her father's approval. That would never happen.

Marian looked at him for a moment, regarding him thoughtfully, but not the same type of thoughtful as before. She didn't seem...content with the moment any longer, instead weighing him in mind. "Do you wish I hadn't come?" she asked, as pleasantly as if she were asking about the weather, with light tones lilting upward conversationally, but with an underlying bitterness which he caught onto quickly.

"Marian, I..." he paused, pursing his lips. He supposed it did sound that way when he threw all of the negatives aspects in her face like that, but...it wasn't what he meant; it just came out wrong. He did like having her around. Liked it, for pity's sake, every minute with her was heaven for him!

But he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't let her know. He didn't deserve her, and she...she didn't deserve the life of an outlaw. He couldn't ask her to abandon luxury and take up that sort of life just for him.

She was still staring at him, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for an answer.

"Marian, I just don't want you to get hurt," he spoke at last, tiredly. "You're a lady of the court, and you shouldn't—it's not fair for you—it's my duty to protect you. I—"

"I don't need your protection, Robin," she cut in icily, sliding off the edge of the table so that she stood facing him, nearly matching him in height. Her jaw was squared away, chin held high in defiance.

She looked...angry. He couldn't think what he'd done. True, they weren't having the pleasantest of discussions, but he didn't understand why she seemed so determined to oppose him.

"I can take care of myself," she added loudly, resolutely, "and...it's not like you're ever around anyway." She said the last more quietly, dropping her proud demeanor along with her eyes, turning to the orange fire across the room, locking her eyes on the flames as her head bowed low.

He stared at her, astonished. Never around? He—he was always in Sherwood, and she could come anytime she wanted. He'd _always_ be there for her; didn't she know that? It was true that he wasn't around _her _all that much, surely not as much as he'd like, but that couldn't be helped. He couldn't go to see her at her estate, and she couldn't get away to see him all the time, but...they did see each other. He _was_ around.

"Marian, that's not—I don't know what you mean," he said at last, stumbling over the words.

She raised her eyes from the fire, meeting his own. "You wouldn't," she said simply, quietly.

He sighed and raised a hand to run it through his hair, mussed from the fight and the swift ride home, through dark trees and sharp wind. Truthfully, maybe he did know what she meant, but he couldn't change anything. He tried to be there at every turn he could, but...there were his men and the poor, starving people and all of England and...her. He was caught in the middle of it all, wishing for something he couldn't have. It wasn't his place to be more than a friend for her; he couldn't cross that line. It would only hurt her more in the long run, and he wouldn't ever want to hurt her.

"Marian, I have to fight for England. I'm an outlaw, but I do what I can to be more than that. I'm sorry if that doesn't meet your expectations."

She looked at him without saying anything, then seemed to wince slightly, scrunching her face into wrinkles and releasing it again. He noticed that the bottom of her lip shook slightly, in quiet tremors. "Robin, I want to go home," she said in a whisper. "Will you take me home, please?"

He sighed again. He wished he could take her in his arms and hold her tight and kiss her and tell how much he loved her, how he'd be there forever with her, but he couldn't; that was the plain, simple truth of the matter. Another day maybe, when all Englishmen were freemen. For now, he only nodded. "It's probably best, this late at night. Your father will be worried. Come on."

They walked together out of the lodge and into the forest, where the branches spread high above them like a blanket and a few bright stars shone high above them, and he wondered if that day would ever come for them.


	7. Mischievous

This has to be one of my favorite chapters so far. It's fun and not depressing. Huzzah!

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She sat at the banquet table bored, staring towards the large door at the end of the hallway and contemplating whether or not anyone would notice if she simply got up and walked out. She could go into Sherwood and find Robin, because heaven knew that whatever he was doing had to be more interesting than sitting here. Perhaps, if she was lucky, they'd be feasting in Sherwood as well, and Alan would play music on his lyre, and there'd be loud storytelling, and illegal venison roasting and everything merry that she loved so much about those feasts in Sherwood.

And Robin. Most of all Robin.

"This ale is excellent, Lady Marian. Do you brew it here yourself?"

Ah, yes, Guy would notice if she left, of course. Guy always noticed. She turned to him, seated just to the left of her and smiled lightly, feeling at once amused with the situation. "Well, I certainly don't brew it, Guy; I hardly think that would be the proper thing for a lady to do."

He blinked, then laughed, forcing it, awkwardly. "That's not quite what I meant, my lady. Of course I didn't suppose you would do it yourself. But your servants, do they brew it here, on your estate?"

She shrugged, bored again. "How should I know?" Actually, that wasn't entirely true. She had a sickening feeling that Little John had actually brewed the ale; she'd brought it here for storing, and it had accidentally been served at the table. Oh, well. She'd have to tell him it was well liked, though he'd be disappointed not to taste it himself.

Guy turned his attention back to his plate somewhat languidly, scraping his fork back and forth across the crumbs, apparently giving up on speaking to her.

For a moment, she entertained thoughts of apologizing to him and starting a discussion about _something_, it didn't mater what. Occasionally, she actually did have interesting conversations with Guy and found his comments to not be entirely imbecilic. Sometimes, she actually...enjoyed it and not just because she was laughing at him either. Because he talked to her, and he listened to her, and he paid attention to her.

And then she felt guilty and went off to her room to sit on her bed and stare at the ceiling and contemplate how much easier her life would be if she were a shepherdess. That usually led to her actually pretending to _be_ a shepherdess and disappearing into the fields and coming back hours later with everyone wondering where she'd been and why she smelled like sheep.

No, she decided, that was not something she felt like getting into tonight. At least not now. Perhaps later, if nothing more interesting came up. Instead, she toyed with her wine goblet and glanced at the other courtiers to her right, trying to listen in on their conversation. It seemed to be about more banquets. The one next week that Lady Margarete was having, the garden party a week after that, the festivities Prince John had in his palace at London. It seemed that their lives were made up entirely of these sort of events, and she wondered that if there were no more social affairs, what would they all have to talk about?

"Guy," she started, against her better judgment.

He turned to her expectantly, dark eyes intently focused wholly upon her. She liked the feeling.

"Is there nothing more to life than banquets and parties and social happenings?"

He looked surprised by the question. She didn't blame him; it wasn't the sort of thing she normally asked him. They'd had somewhat deep conversations before, she supposed, but about politics and literature and...colors, for goodness' sake! Not about what made up a life.

"Well, certainly, my lady," he replied, somewhat unsure, but with a sort of confidence in his answer as well. "There's honor and courage and battles to be fought and...love." He ended quietly, still watching her.

She sat up straighter in her seat, suddenly wishing she hadn't asked him, because he sounded almost like Robin, only Robin would never mention love to her. He was immune to it, just didn't feel it, or else didn't deem it worth speaking of. Guy sounded...the way she _wished_ Robin sounded. So she swallowed and forced herself to remember how Guy worked for the sheriff and Prince John and carried out whatever horrid duties they commanded to him, and he'd shoved her to the ground, and the only reason he didn't hand her over as a traitor conspiring with a rebel against Prince John was because he thought she was too beautiful, and the evidence he had against her was more conjecture than actual fact.

Before she had the chance to say anything in reply or come up with any more reasons why she should hate Guy, the doors at the end of the hall swung open. Four men walked through: one very large, both tall and broad, one average-sized, dressed all in scarlet, one smaller and fair-haired, and one tall and lean with the muscled arms of an archer that made her head feel light and her heart pound madly in her chest.

She knocked her goblet over, spilling dark red wine all over the table.

She knew them at once, even dressed in unusual finery. Little John, Will Scarlet, Alan-a-dale, and Robin Hood, of course. _Robin. _She had no idea where they'd gotten their clothes, or why they were at her estate, walking towards her with ridiculous grins on their faces, Robin especially. She blushed and looked at her hands in her lap.

Guy, glancing towards her reddened cheeks, gave a strange look, then stood up quickly, a hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist, the one he seemed to never remove. "Who are you, strangers, and why do you enter our private banquet so boldly?"

Before either of the men could muster a response, her own father, at the head of the table, waved his hand. "Oh, settle down, Sir Guy. Would you be so rude to guests we've yet to even be introduced to? Perhaps they've traveled far and are weary, or bear messages from the crown? Let us heart their story." He turned expectantly to the men still walking towards the table, and Guy sat back down rather reluctantly.

Coming upon the table now, they stood only a few feet from it. She saw now that they wore disguises besides their clothes, though thin ones. False beards, powder, fake scars. Robin, she thought, mostly looked like he'd taken a knife to his face and simply started hacking away. Will had a rather long and sagely looking beard, while Alan had a moustache he wouldn't stop stroking the ends of. Little John, on the other hand, was completely clean-shaven and wore the robes of priest, though somewhat ill-fitting. He'd likely borrowed them from Friar Tuck and while they were wide enough, they didn't come near to touching the floor.

She supposed there were few men wanting them dead who actually knew their faces, but she still felt like shoving Robin out the door and yelling at him until he went back to Sherwood. He couldn't have any goal in coming except to amuse himself, and there were plenty of other ways to do that away from Guy, who would have his head if he knew.

Robin, however, kept smiling and turned to her father, managing to look pleasant and war-weary at once. "Well, sir, you are right: we have traveled quite far. From the Holy Lands, in fact. I, along with my esquires," he gestured at Alan and Will, "and Friar Gibbons," he nodded to Little John, "we were aids to the king."

Marian had to keep herself from choking as she took a drink out of the glass of wine a servant had refilled for her. Guy glanced at her as she made a muffled, throaty sound and lurched forward in her chair. She recovered herself quickly, though, setting the glass down and feigning a delicate cough. Guy looked away again.

Aids to the king? _Good heavens, Robin, you'd better have a good story for this one!_ As if sensing her thoughts, his eyes turned to her, smiling and nodding politely as any refined courtier would. She looked anywhere but him: the table, the door, her hands, the other men, who made her laugh.

Alan, unused to such crowds and such finery, seemed to be looking everywhere at once as sweat broke out on his forehead. Will, once a true squire himself, stood resolutely by, not really looking anywhere except perhaps at the far wall. Little John looked from her father back to Robin, watching the discussion with some amount of interest, smiling occasionally in her direction.

"The king?" her father asked, interested now. "Is he returning, then? Is King Richard well?"

She looked up at Robin as well then, feeling like smirking as she leaned back in her chair to watch him answer. He no doubt would talk, but she wondered how he'd make any of it sound remotely true. This was the king they were talking about; he couldn't tell them he was coming back, or that he'd died, or anything very definite, lest he give false reports on something they all cared so deeply about.

Robin sighed, rather dramatically and stared gloomily down at the floor, shaking his head. "That I cannot say. We left him at Cyprus, I'm afraid."

"And you just got here now?" Guy asked incredulously. "We heard that news months ago; it shouldn't have taken you much longer to get here than it did for the news to get to us."

Robin shrugged lightly. "We got caught in ill winds. The other ships with us went on ahead, while we were stuck on strange shores that I do not care to recall, for the terrors that they held. I..." he shuddered, almost believably but not quite, "I saw my life there, for what it was, laid out before my very eyes."

No one said anything on that subject, all likely sensing more melodrama than they cared to hear, but her father began to frown now, puzzled. "But why did the king have you go at all, if he had no plans of returning soon?"

"I was injured in battle," Robin explained, "gravely."

Marian's lips twitched. This was just too much fun to not join in, with the swift way he'd walked down the hall towards them. She looked up, meeting Robin's eyes strongly before feigning an expression of innocent curiosity, arching her brows, parting her lips slightly. "But, sir," she started at last, "you...didn't look very injured walking in here."

Robin stared back at her just as strongly, his face unconcerned as ever. Apparently he had a reason for that as well. "Not all injuries are so easily seen, my lady."

She raised her eyebrows, wanting to hear this. "Oh? Do you care to explain?"

He smirked and crossed his arms, walking even closer to the table, laying his hands down on it right across from her. "My lady, injuries of the heart are those that go the deepest and last the longest. Yet they are invisible wounds, except to see it in a man's eye or in the slump of his back."

"Do you mean to say that your heart was broken in the Holy Lands, then, and King Richard sent you back because of it?" An absurd idea but she stated the question timidly, in her most honest and naïve voice.

His mouth twitched. "Not quite, my lady. I _was_ injured in battle. But it was my heart that brought me back." He stared at her sincerely, brown eyes almost boring into hers, and if he hadn't been the Robin she'd known for all these years, she would have believed him. She would have thought it romantic and wonderful and wanted to marry him herself, likely.

As it was, she only inwardly rolled her eyes. _You never were there in the first place, you foolish oaf!_

But his brown eyes continued watching her, and he spoke again, much quieter with a voice low and tight and halting, the way he spoke when he meant something, though she supposed he could fake it just as easily. "It was my heart...that brought me here...tonight, my lady."

Then her heart was hammering again, and her blood was throbbing, and her face was flushing scarlet, and she could look anywhere but at him, and she wondered if really _meant_ it. But he was Robin, and he never meant anything while he was on his silly escapades and making up stories, but then he was talking to her this time, and he _looked _like he meant it.

She dared to raise here eyes to his face again, and she was shocked by how close he was, even though he really wasn't all that close, because he was all the way across the table, but his eyes were locked on hers, so solemn and brown and the corners of his mouth were turned upward but just on one side, in that half-smile of his, and...everyone else was staring at them.

In a moment, Robin stood up straight again, backing away from the table and grinning brightly. "Well, I'm afraid we really must be off!" he called loudly, his voice ringing throughout the room. "It was lovely coming to your banquet, sir; I do hope I can call again." He made a deep and courtly bow, turned on his heel, and walked from the room, with Alan, Will, and Little John all in tow.

Several moments after he was gone, her father looked up frowning. "You know," he said, "the fellow never did mention his name, or what he was doing here."

Guy nodded in return. "Yes, I'm not entirely sure I liked him. His visit seemed cut short, somehow. He left without really telling us anything and his companions didn't speak at all."

Marian only smiled.

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And please, please, please review! I know it's probably something your unaccustomed to, because no one seems to review in the Robin Hood section, but it really would be appreciated. And I thank those of you who have reviewed, and I love you all. And this is rather late at night, so if this is badly proofread, please forgive me! And point out my errors if you will, in that handy thing called a review!


	8. Heroes

"Robin!"

He whirls around in what he hopes is a menacing manner, crossing his arms to face the girl who'd just shrieked his name at the top of her lungs. For all her loud voice, she's small, with reddish brown hair and dark brown eyes and an obnoxiously bright smile.

He recognizes her, of course. She's Marian Fitzgerald, lady of the manor, even if she is just eight years old; her mother died when she was three, and her father didn't seem keen on remarrying, and that made her the lady of the manor.

He knows her history. Everyone knows her history, even simple would-be woodcutter's sons, if only his father was still alive and hadn't been shot down for something so trivial as hunting deer in the king's forest and—oh, gosh, his father's _dead_, and—he won't cry won't cry won't cry, not in front of a girl. He composes himself. He's really just surprised she knows his name.

"Your name _is_ Robin, isn't it?"

Of course, she _doesn't_ know his name. She only has a vague inkling of who he is and expecting anything more from her would be unreasonable. She's a noble, after all—and not just a noble, a _Norman_ noble. Even if her mother was a Saxon, it didn't change the fact that her father's a Norman, and they're all the same.

"Well, is it?" she repeats her question.

"I guess it is," he replies at last.

"You guess? Well, don't you know?"

And he stares at her like daggers while she just smiles back at him, and he wonders why she's bothering him, and doesn't she know he has no use for talking to her, that he's running away to make himself a house in the Sherwood and live there and never see anyone else again? He turns and looks at the forest then, just a few steps away, and it's green and alive, and it's safe, and it's shelter, and it's _home_. Like best friends and getting muddy and playing war and dessert before dinner and his father's voice.

"Well, Robin, are you...going somewhere?"

Then he looks back at the girl in front of him, with her obnoxious smile and obnoxious voice, and she's just such a child. She doesn't know anything about the forest. She probably can't even tell an oak from an elm. "Into the forest, I guess. I mean, I am," he adds on, before she can interrupt him again. "I'm going, and I'm gonna live there all by myself, and build a house out of some sturdy oaks, maybe, and I'm going to shoot deer even if it's illegal, cause I don't care about the law. It's stupid. I'm gonna eat all the deer I want, and I'm gonna climb trees all day in the summer and have great big roaring fires in the winter." He pauses for a moment, inspecting the effect his words are having on the girl. She's staring up at him with wide eyes, filled with admiration. Feeling spurred on by her enraptured state, he adds, "And I'm gonna be a hero."

He stops then, not really sure why he added on this last point, except that maybe something in the girl made him feel heroic. In any case, his point is made, and he turns about quickly and begins walking in the opposite direction, towards the Sherwood Forest. If he's really going to do all this, he'd needs to get moving. After a few pace, he hears footsteps trailing behind him. He stops and spots the girl. "Well, what do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

She seems unfazed, and her lips are curled into a wide smile. "Well, Robin, if you're going to be a hero, could you be _my_ hero? Just like in the fairy stories?"

He scratches his hair for a moment. The girl smiles an awful lot. But it wasn't bad, necessarily. He sort of liked the way her face all crinkled up, and the way her eyes were so fixed on him, like he was the only thing she saw. And she was a little bit pretty. He tries to recall everything he knows about fairy stories. As he remembers, being a hero seemed to involve a lot of rescuing maidens and dashing about on big white horses. Finally, he shrugs. "Well, I don't know if I have time for that sort of thing. I have my own things to do. But I suppose I wouldn't mind it, too much. As long you don't bother me."

"Oh, I won't!" she says loudly, hands clasped in front of her. She stands there, just looking at him for a long time, and he scratches his hair again. Then, without warning, she takes another step towards him and grabs both of his hands forcefully. "Robin, can I come with you?" she asks with a sudden intensity.

He frowns and shakes his head, backing away from her and pulling his hands free. "No, I don't really need anyone," he mutters nonchalantly. And he doesn't. He lost his father, but he was surviving, and he's Robin, after all, and he's going to live alone in the forest and do nothing he doesn't want to do, and he's going to be a hero. People need heroes, but heroes don't need people.

And with that, he walks away for real, into the forest where the trees are tall and green and alive and safe, and they're his best friends and his dessert and his father's voice, and he's _home_.

But as he goes, he can hear Marian whisper, just under her breath, "But what if you do need someone?"

He shakes his head and goes on his way.

* * *

"Robin!"

This time, he doesn't whirl around quickly or cross his arms to seem menacing. He just looks up slowly from the ground, where his hand is buried in the leaves. He remembers then that he was going to be a hero—her hero—but he's never really done anything at all. He doesn't even live alone in the forest in his own house. He lives with Much the miller's son, and he's a plain woodcutter through and through. And now he's worse than that.

"Robin, where have you been? We've been looking for you all day! We started to worry when you never showed up at the Fair."

Much is behind her, and they both have creases on their foreheads and worried eyes, but he just drops his head back down to his knees, and slumps farther down against the huge oak at his back.

"Robin, what is it?" she asks, quieter now as she drops down beside him. He can feel the velvety material of her skirt slip against his arm, and then her hand brushes his skin as she leans closer to him. "What happened?" she whispers.

He looks at her soft brown eyes, fixed entirely on him, and the sun's in just the right spot to illuminate her whole face, and she looks like an angel. And he groans, because he's just so ordinary—or less than ordinary, and he doesn't deserve an angel. "I killed him," he manages to utter at last. "I killed him."

"Killed who?" she asks. "Robin, tell me. Did you...meet someone on your way to the Fair?"

He looks into her solemn eyes again and the story pours itself out. His mouth seems to move while he hardly knows what he's saying, but somehow he's telling her everything. How he was on his way to the Fair, but he got stopped by the sheriff and his men—Normans all of them, and they wouldn't let him pass and they insulted him and insulted his dead father, and he—he raised his bow and shot and—he didn't stop to think...he had better aim than he'd reckoned for, and...he killed one of the sheriff's men, watched him topple limply to the ground. Then they were after him like a pack of hounds, and he ran and ran and ran, until...he reached the forest and lost them. And they were probably going to hunt him down and kill him now, but—he didn't bloody care, because they were Normans and they hated him and were nothing but selfish brutes, and good riddance to the one he'd killed!

By then, he's almost crying, but he blinks and swallows furiously to hide it. He'd avowed long ago to never, ever cry in front of a girl, but Marian just puts her hand on his arm and pays no attention to his fierce blinking, like she doesn't even notice.

"Maybe...this doesn't have to be a bad thing," she says quietly, glancing at Much behind her.

Robin stares blankly, wondering dully if Marian had lost her mind. He's a murderer and probably an infamous outlaw by now. It definitely wasn't a good thing.

Much steps forward cautiously. "She's right Robin...the Normans are out of their place with King Richard gone, and...they're hurting everyone. Taxes are too high, and they're brutal to the Saxon peasants. It's not right. Maybe...the Normans could use someone to give them opposition."

Marian nods eagerly beside him. "Someone standing up to the Normans would be monumental. Think, Robin, you killed a man, but that doesn't mean your life is over! All the oppressed people...they don't have enough money to eat and they're still forced to pay higher and higher taxes that go for nothing but the Normans gluttony. You're the only one that's ever stood up to them. Robin, you...you could be everyone's hero!"

He looks at her bright smile, almost too bright for the occasion, and her eyes are dancing and the whole of her is fixed on him. She looks exactly like she did when she was eight and admired him for the ridiculous idea of living alone in the forest and being a hero. He wonders vaguely how she can still look at him like that. He'd just killed another man—one of the worst crimes imaginable—and then he'd run in the other direction like a coward, yet she looks at him like she's seeing someone else entirely, someone who's a hero. He doesn't understand.

"Marian, I..." he gives a slight, forced laugh, shrugging her hand off his arm and pushing himself to his feet. "I'm not...I can't...I'm just a woodcutter!"

She stands up as well, rising slowly to her feet while staring at him all the while, taking him in with sincere eyes. "Is that all you are, Robin?" she asks levelly.

He frowns at her and at Much, watching him curiously, and then glances around at the trees around him. They were green and alive and _home_, and he'd been going to build a house in the forest once. He frowned again, shaking his head. Marian and Much were both ridiculous, and he didn't see what they wanted from him. Though, this wouldn't be a bad place to build. The trees were thick and tall, good for making strong walls. Maybe if he had a few men to help him...he remembered when his father was killed, and all the tears he'd cried, and the countless others who were being worked to death, their children left alone. He sighed.

"I could build myself a house out here," he says at last. "I could...shoot deer, even if it is illegal. I could have venison roasts with...big roaring fires."

He glanced at Marian. She was smiling at him, brightly, obnoxiously. "And you can climb trees every day in the summer," she says slyly.

"I could live with you, Robin, and maybe round up a few other men to join our cause. I'm sure there's many men willing to fight the Normans," Much says, stepping forward.

"A band of outlaws," he says dryly. "Wonderful."

"So you'll be a hero then, Robin?" Marian asks, still smiling. She doesn't say _my_ hero, and he knows why. They're older now; he's an outlaw, and she's a lady, and there's suddenly a gaping space between them that neither of them can reach across. Still, he recognizes her question as the same it was when she was eight.

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice in the matter," he replies with a twitching smile.

She takes a step closer to him, so close he could reach out and touch her cheek just by extending his wrist. She speaks quietly now. "I know I can't be with you, but can I at least come and visit you?"

He starts to say no, that it wouldn't be safe, that if anyone found out, she'd be under suspicion, and it would be better for both of them if she stayed away, and he doesn't need her anyway. Heroes don't need people. But he stops himself. He wouldn't be doing any of this if it wasn't for her. Maybe he's going to be a hero, but it's only because somehow, someway, she saw him as a hero first. And maybe heroes don't need anyone, but part of him is still ordinary, and part of him is still terrified. "Yes," he says. "I think...I might need you, Marian."

She smiles up at him.

* * *

**Announcement! I will most likely be continuing these indefinitely for quite a while, but if you'd like to see me update them faster, I'm integrating a new policy! Leave me a prompt in your review! These scenes incredibly difficult to write sometimes, simply because coming up with ideas that are nonspecific enough to fit into a oneshot but something still happens in them is hard! So, I'd like you to give me ideas. It can be specific, like "Robin is doing x, and Marian comes and does y, and as a result z happens." Or it can be vague and abstract and sentimental like... "Robin...you...and me...always." Except that's probably a little too vague, but you get the idea.**

**Of course, if you have absolutely no ideas, normal reviews are lovely as well. :D**


	9. Absence

"Marian!" There was a loud whisper cutting through the dark. It was past midnight, she was lying in her bed, and she was all together unsure of why anyone would be calling her name. She rolled around to face the other direction, fully prepared to accept the strange occurrence as merely a dream—though she was fairly certain she was not and had not been sleeping.

"Marian!" The second time, she froze a little, because it sounded like Robin. Why he would be in her room, let alone in the middle of the night, was beyond her.

She rolled back the other way, where she thought the voice had come from. "Robin?" she whispered back, a little unsure.

"Marian! I'm at the window!"

She hesitated a moment, then sat up and pushed herself out of bed, shivering a little in the colder air as she walked to the window. It was a large window, on the same wall as her headboard, to the right. It looked out over the long fields that stretched over much of the estate, before the forest rose up out of the ground. As much light as was to be found in the entire manor house flowed into that window, and she saw him.

His face was illuminated by the light of the stars, though dimly. She could make out his familiar jaw line and the corners of his mouth, twitching upward in a grin. His eyes were more shadowed until she knelt beside him, their faces close together, and she could just make them out from the way they shined in the dark.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, louder than she intended. She was almost shouting, and the fact that it was her initial reaction to shout at Robin upon seeing him—_Robin_ of all people—made her cheeks redden in shame. They had rather too many quarrels.

He held a finger to his lips. His opposite hand gripped her window ledge with a tightness that turned his knuckles white, and she couldn't fathom how he'd managed to climb up the wall—though she supposed with all his experience tree climbing, it couldn't be that much more difficult.

He pointed up to the sky where the stars twinkled with bright, dazzling light. "Aren't they beautiful?" he asked. He had an easy, conversational tone that irritated her.

She looked up at the stars dubiously. "Of course the stars are lovely, Robin, but why are you here in the middle of the night, hanging onto my window sill?"

He looked back at her with a slow, steady smile. "I figured you wouldn't have any guests at this time of night. I had to see you."

She felt her face flush again, as a fluttering, tingling feeling spread from her swiftly beating heart to her fingertips and back. "Why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Because. Do you know it's been a month since you last came to Sherwood? What have you been doing?"

"I've been busy," she said, smiling at the idea of him coming all this way in the middle of the night to see her for no other reason than him just wanting to. "A lady of the court has a lot to do, you know. Did you really miss me all that much?" She placed her right hand on his, her fingers resting lightly on his own.

He looked at her hand for a moment, face drawn into tighter lines. Finally, he shrugged. "Well, you know. Sherwood is never quite the same when you're not around. My men have been pining for you, so I came on their behalf to tell you to come visit us."

"Oh," she said, letting her hand drop back inside. "On their behalf." She didn't try to contain her disappointment. He didn't have to say he was brazenly in love with her, but she wished that he would at least admit for once like actually liked having her around, that he missed her when she wasn't there

"Well," he said, "and mine. I mean, without you joining in our archery contests, there's nothing even resembling competition."

She looked at him without saying anything. He was pursing his lips together. He seemed nervous to gain her approval, but for a long moment, she just stared at him. Then she smiled, at last. She _was_ glad to see him.

He smiled back. "So, don't you want to hear what we've been up to?" he asked. He had a broad grin on his face, and he stared at her with an eager light in his eyes, just asking for her attention.

She let a small smile fall across her lips. "Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, I'd imagine."

"Well, yes. You've missed a lot of quite exciting raids, actually. We scaled the walls of Lord Chemry's castle and barely escaped with our lives. You would've enjoyed it."

"I thought you always said you didn't me involved with that sort of thing, that you thought it was too dangerous." She raised one eyebrow at him, wondering if her absence had made him suddenly change his mind about these things.

"Well, I do," he said. "It just—you know—I thought of you, while it was happening."

She looked at him and smiled. "I wish I could have been there, then," she said softly.

He nodded. "But there's more exciting things than that," he went on after a moment. "Much has taken up fishing and experimenting with different methods of cooking these fish. We've had some interesting meals. A few of them made us all sick, but overall it's been a success. Little John tried to teach Alan to staff fight with more limited success. Then we decided to have a staff fighting championship, and Will lost most of his clothes in a bet with Much. He bet that I'd win against Little John, and while I admire his loyalty, sometimes I wonder about his sense. Little John is quite the champion staff fighter. And here's something particularly interesting, Alan wants to get married."

"What?" she asked, jaw dropping. She had a hard time picturing Alan marrying anyone. "To who?"

"A Lady Marjorie, apparently. I thought you might know her."

"Lady Marjorie..." She bit her lip, trying to remember all the women of the court she was acquainted with. "Of Kent?" she said at last. "I know of her. But how does Alan?"

"He was a minstrel often at her estate, and they talked rather often as well. Something he failed to mention until recently. Evidently, she's to marry some lord..."

"Lord Andrew, yes, I'd heard that," Marian said. She looked at Robin with a small frown. "Are you going to do something about it?"

He shrugged. "Well, we could have an interesting wedding feast at Sherwood."

"Robin! They're not just going to let you take Lord Andrew's bride. They'll be looking everywhere for you. She'll lead them right to you!"

He shifted around a bit. "I know," he said, "but...I don't think they'd necessarily find us. And...he loves her."

"And when did you become such a romantic?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"When did you become such an unromantic?" he countered.

"Maybe since you've told me numerous times how I can't visit you too often, because someone might get suspicious. And now you're thinking of just taking this girl and letting her live with you all, permanently?" It hardly seemed like a fair concept to her.

He sighed and looked down at his hands. "I've thought about this, Marian" he said, looking back up at her. "I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and...I made a decision. I've always let my men have everything I have, no more and no less. And if you were marrying someone, against your will, I wouldn't listen to anything I'd ever said about the consequences. I'd come and I'd stop that wedding. So am I going to make Alan sit by and do nothing when I know I couldn't make myself do the same?"

She could feel her blood pounding insistently out from her chest. She backed away from the window just a little, biting her lip. He'd practically said he loved her, what she always wanted to hear, but not in a way that came anywhere near to settling things between them.

He didn't say anything else.

After a moment, she let out her breath. Well, he was Robin Hood. He _would _have to complicate everything like that, but if he didn't, she wouldn't love him half as much. Finally, she gave him a small smile. "So, a wedding in Sherwood?"

He smiled—grinned. "You really ought to visit us more, Marian. It will be quite the occasion."

"I wouldn't miss it."

He smiled, leaning in the window closer to her again. "So you'll come see us? Soon?"

"Tomorrow, if I can manage it," she replied, thinking of her schedule.

"Good," he said. He looked at her for along moment, then grinned again and dropped downward.

She leaned quickly over the ledge and watched him make a hasty descent down the wall, before running for the forest across her property, the starlight leading his way. She smiled. For all his not admitting it, he really did come to see her just because he missed her. And she liked that.

* * *

This is very short, but hopefully you're glad to see that Robin and Marian are still alive! If I get reviews, I might even update again. :D (Actually, without reviews, too. But I would prefer them.)


	10. Promise

For the time being, I'm writing these based on a series of 365 prompts. This means that I will actually have ideas, but they'll probably be a bit shorter than some of the ones before this. Hope you don't mind. And some of them could be longer; I don't know. But at the moment, they seem to be going kind of short.

July 31 – Somebody makes a promise.

The wedding was a great success. At least, he thought so, and he was fairly certain Alan thought so as well. He'd barely taken his eyes off his new wife since they'd left her grand castle behind. It hadn't been easy, but they'd all made it out alive, and that was what mattered in the end.

And of course, they were having a grand party in Sherwood. He'd shot the deer himself, a fine doe, and they cooked the meat on spits over a roaring orange fire. He'd ordered some of the boys to go get buckets of water, just in case. Burning the whole forest down simply over a wedding hardly seemed like a good idea. Then there was music as the men fiddled merry tunes that simply didn't allow anyone to stand still on their feet. So, of course, there was dancing and the Lady Marjorie blushed as she was swung off her feet, and Marian laughed as she claimed a dance with every man there. It had been a fine party.

It was winding down now, as the fires turned to dim embers reminiscing of the once high licking flames. A few of the men were still fiddling, but softly, and Much was telling a story that few of the men were actually listening to, but it was entertaining all the same. On the ground, a short distance from him, Will and Marian were attempting to play Alan's lute, with little success.

He himself was...relaxing. Something he did little enough of these days. Getting the girl out had been stressful. There had been shots fired, a few near deaths, but somehow they'd done it. He knew it wasn't the end of it, though. Her father would send men out looking, but that was a worry for another day.

He rested his head against the long log behind him, staring into the dancing orange and red flames. He breathed in and out slowly, closed his eyes and felt the heat warming his face, while his back chilled in the air on the other side.

After a moment, he turned his head to glance at Alan and the Lady Marjorie. They were looking into each other's faces, smiles on their lips, love in their eyes, just as they'd been when they spoke their vows quietly under the trees, with Friar Tuck's guiding. He supposed they'd want to be alone.

He stood up and walked the long way around the fire, coming around to tap on Alan's shoulder. "The shed is waiting for you," he whispered. "Marian fixed it quite comfortably, I believe. You don't have to stick around here any longer if you want not to."

Alan nodded, whispered a few words to Marjorie, and they got up and went away together. He sat down on the log where Alan had been and glanced around for a few moments. His eyes stopped on Marian. She and Will had apparently given up on the lute and were staring into the fire. Her face was glowing with the light and that something else he could never quite define—the thing that had captured his fascination since they were children. She had something, some glow, some passion that enthralled him. "Marian," he called to her, "come sit with me."

She glanced at him and slowly rose to her feet, a smile twitching on her lips. "Are you asking me to marry you, Robin?" she asked, coming beside him. "This is the newlywed seat, after all."

For a moment, he felt panicked. His throat went raw as his palms began to sweat. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked her. Perhaps it implied too much. After a moment, though, he shook off the feeling. This was a party. There was no reason not to have a little fun, so he smiled at her. "Not today, Marian."

"Ah, tomorrow then," she replied, sitting down in Marjorie's seat. She folded her legs, sitting on one foot in a relaxed position. "After all, we wouldn't want to spoil Alan and Marjorie's day with our own announcement."

"No, indeed. It would be most discourteous." He watched her smile into the fire before going on. "So, what did you think of the wedding? Was it as terribly dangerous as you thought it would be?"

She sat up a bit straight and looked him straight in the eye, raising a dark eyebrow. "Yes," she said flatly. "If you don't call being rained down upon with arrows as we gallop away at breakneck speeds dangerous, then, Robin, I really don't know about you. And I doubt that's the last we'll see of them either."

He gave as nonchalant a shrug as he could manage. He already knew all that, but he didn't think it warranted much further talk. Not tonight. "It never is. But I don't want to think about that now." If he did think about it, he wouldn't stop thinking about it, and he wouldn't be able to enjoy any of the blessings in his life.

"Oh? And what is it that you want to think about, Robin?" Marian asked, leaning a bit closer to him.

He observed her near vicinity carefully, mentally checking himself so as not to get carried away. When he felt he was fully under his own control, he gave her half smile. "Well," he said, leaning in conspiratorially to her ear, "I want to think about the stars." He glanced upward furtively and back down to her.

She eyed him with her small frown that simply meant, _You're ridiculous, Robin,_ before glancing up as well. It wasn't the best view in the world. The trees blocked out a lot of the sky, but what they could see was breathtaking. There were jewels sparkling high above them, spread out miles above them, but so bright it seemed as if they could be touched by human hands.

He watched Marian's eyes brighten as she looked at them and smiled. He knew she didn't see stars often. That was something about being a proper courtier. They didn't get outside after dark nearly enough. She looked back at him with her face all bright and full of smiles, even as she tried to contain them.

"You know, Robin, for being so ridiculous and stubborn sometimes, you really can be quite nice." She moved a bit closer to his and tucked her arm under his own. "So, what else do you want to think about?"

He swallowed as he felt her arm on his, and she was sitting so close to him; he felt if she was any closer, he'd be able to feel her heartbeat, and then he'd truly be a lost cause. "Well, I'm thinking about whether those men should be carried into the lodge or left snoring out here," he said, indicating a group of six of his men, leaning against a log with some just unconscious on the ground—and all of them making loud, throaty sounds. "I'm leaning towards the latter."

Marian giggled. "Yes, and what's Much going on about, do you think?"

He glanced up at his friend, who apparently still hadn't got to the end of his tale. There really only seemed to be one listener now—Will, who looked thoroughly confused. Most of the other men were dozing off, or whispering quietly, but Much kept talking on with wild gesticulations. "I've no idea," he said at last, after a moment of straining to hear. "I rather like watching his expressions, though. Quite the dramatic fellow, Much."

Marian laughed again, that sound he loved so much to hear, like the sunshine, like every other ridiculous romantic comparison floating around in his head. Like home. He glanced at her again, the way the fire brought out all the red in her hair, made her eyes shine, made her smile.

"Robin," she said quietly, looking back into his own eyes, suddenly solemn. "Can you promise me we'll always be like this?"

"Like what?" he asked, straightening a little. He found that her fingers had threaded their way through his, and he wasn't sure how. It made him nervous, but he didn't want to let go.

"You know," Marian said, glancing at the fire, seeming to search for words hidden in the flames. "Friends," she said finally, looking back at him. "Talking to each other. Being honest. Telling each other when we're being stupid and stubborn and still being able to laugh about it. Not wanting to kill each other at the end of the day."

He gave her his most solemn face. "Believe me, Marian, I don't think I'm ever really going to want to kill you."

She swatted his arm. "I'm being serious, Robin!"

"And so was I! I don't want to kill you!" She just looked at him, and finally he sighed. "All right," he said, considering her words carefully. Promises weren't to be trifled with, especially where Marian was concerned. They had an oddly complicated relationship. In one line of thinking, he knew that he couldn't promise her that. He didn't know what would happen to either of them. Sometimes things changed without being asked to. But when he looked in her eyes, he knew how he had to answer. "I promise," he said, holding her hand tighter. "I won't change. Other things—circumstances—might change, but I won't. I'll always be here to laugh, or tell you when you're being stupid and stubborn."

Marian had to stifle a laugh, but her eyes stayed locked on him. Her lips curled into a smile. "I promise, too," she said softly. She pursed her lips then and glanced up at the sky. "I should probably be going, so I can get at least some sleep before the sun comes up. There'll be talk if I'm falling asleep all day." She started to rise slowly.

He jumped to his feet. "Of course," he said. They stood looking at each other for a moment. Their hands were still locked together. He glanced down awkwardly and dropped her hand, pulling his own away.

She looked at her hand, left suddenly alone, and brought it back to her side. She looked up at him with an expression he couldn't make out, but something about it made him look away.

"Well, let's get going then," he said, turning away from the flickering fire. "I'll go with you to the edge of your estate, to make sure you get there safely."

She nodded, and they walked together in silence into the dark.


	11. Wisdom

Prompt: Oct. 4 - Three things my father told me

* * *

She watched Guy ride away from the Manor on his black horse for a long moment. She watched him gallop down the long drive, and she watched the way he sat his horse—very tall and very proud. He looked like a perfect knight, riding away. He was in control and strong and couth. He was a man.

Her hand moved to her cheek. The wind gusted at her, and she shivered. He kissed her when he said goodbye. He _kissed _her.

"Marian, come inside, for pity's sake!"

She moved a little, glancing at the manor at her back, where her father called to her, and then down the road again. Guy was gone now. It was only the long, lonely drive, with trees on either side. And her, standing alone. She turned and went back inside.

Her father was just inside the door, waiting for her. His hair had gotten grayer in recent years, and his eyes weren't as sharp as they used to be. She worried sometimes, for his often poor health, but recently he seemed a bit better. He walked all around the manor with Guy and her and watched as they walked by themselves. "You stayed out there a rather long time," he said, glancing at her. "Did he say anything to you?"

She glanced at him and shook her head a little, shrugging. "He said goodbye." _And he kissed me, _she thought. She didn't have to touch her cheek. She could still feel his lips as if they'd burnt a mark there. She started to walk down the hallway that would lead to the staircase and up to her personal quarters.

"Hmph," her father grunted, walking along with her. "Perhaps I ought to ask him his intentions."

She glanced at him and then back in front of her, down the hallway, at the paintings gracing the walls. His intentions. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear them.

Her father walked in silence for a moment, but not a very long one. "Perhaps I ought to ask you yours," he said at last. "Truly, Marian, I worry sometimes. I think you're going to break that boy's heart. He doesn't deserve it, you know."

"I know," she said, rather too quickly. She felt her father's eyes turn on her sharply at her sudden response. Usually, she just shrugged off his comments on the subject. She glanced over at him and bit her lip.

"You know?" he asked slowly. "Just..._what _do you know?"

She looked at him and felt at a loss for words. The paintings on the walls showed men hunting in the forest, a great forest with ancient trees and leaves of emerald. "I...know he doesn't deserve it. He—he...he—"

"He loves you," her father said what she couldn't bring herself to utter.

She looked at the floor and at her hands, twining her fingers together.

"I believe that, Marian. I think you do, too." She glanced at him, and he went on, "You'd have a comfortable home with him and one that would be sure not to crumble. Sir Guy didn't only inherit his money and position. He worked to attain it. And he would take care of you."

The matter sounded all together finished with already. She pursed her lips together and forced her head to nod in agreement, whether or not she felt the same way. "Yes, Father," she said in a monotone voice.

He looked at her again, with a sharp glance. "But, Marian," he said, "I also think... I realize that I'm not with you constantly. I don't know what you do in your spare time. I don't know your thoughts on Sir Guy or...anyone else. But I want you to be happy."

She glanced at him again. He said he didn't know in a way that made it sound very much like he _did_ know. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what he knew. She never told him about Robin. He knew that they used to be friends when he worked at the manor. But she wasn't entirely sure he'd even connected the outlaw Robin Hood as being the same Robin that worked for them and then as a woodcutter. In any case, they never spoke of it.

"But there's many ways to be happy," her father went on, smiling at the hallway in front him. "And many ways not to be happy. You see, Marian, you come from a well off family. And you could easily be happy marrying into an equally well off family. On the other hand, you could make yourself miserable marrying into an equally well off family and wishing you could see another side of life. So say you don't marry into a well off family at all. Say you ran off and married the miller's son, or something equally disreputable. You could be happy, with love or some other wide eyed notion, but would you? I think, sometimes, you wouldn't. You wouldn't have the things you were used to having, and you would no longer have the same sort of peers. The people you spend time with now would look down on you. It would be an entirely different world, and while it might be what you want, you might not truly be happy there."

She looked at him and wondered if he was done lecturing her yet. It sounded rather like one of his going-senile lectures. No one in their right mind would consider her marrying that far beneath her. No one, except...herself. She bit her lip.

They were coming upon the staircase now, and she was grateful. She adored her father, but she hated hearing him talk about her marrying. She thought often that she simply wouldn't marry. She was well enough off that it could be avoided. Her father wouldn't be happy, of course. A lot of people wouldn't be happy, and... in the end, she wondered if _she_ would be happy. She didn't want to be alone her whole life. She felt alone enough as it was. And when she got older... there'd be no one.

"You seem to have very little to say on this subject, Marian," her father said, as they stopped at the staircase. "Just answer me this: if Guy asked for your hand, would you accept?"

She looked into his gray eyes and sighed. "I don't know, Father."

"Fair enough," he said, nodding at her. She started up the staircase, but he held out a hand to stop her. "That being said, there are three things I want to impress upon you."

She paused, waiting for him to tell her.

"First, as I previously stated, I want you to be happy. Regardless of who you do or do not marry, all I want is that you would be happy and content. But secondly, you can't always have what you wish for. I fear sometimes that your ideals might get in the way of your actually living. And finally, Marian, if you're going to break someone's heart, make sure it's not your own."

She smiled. She still wasn't entirely happy about the subject matter, but for the moment at least, she was content. Her father loved her, and she loved him back. She stepped down from the stair she was on and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Father," she said. "I love you."

She smiled at him and then continued on her way up the staircase. When she reached her door, she opened it and saw Robin lying on her bed. She quickly shut the door behind her and blinked at him.

"Marian!" he said, sitting up and grinning at her. "You're here. I've been waiting."

She pursed her lips together. He always showed up at the strangest times. "What—what are you—?"

"Don't worry, I was ready to roll over and jump out the window at a moment's notice, if anyone came in."

"I just came in!" she argued, yelling at first but moving quickly to a whisper, lest anyone should hear. "And you barely moved!"

"Well," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I know your footsteps. You have a very comfortable bed, by the way. Nice quarters, in general. I like them." He glanced around the room with a nonchalant gaze, like he was appraising the place. Finally, he turned to her with a smile.

"Well—why are you here?" she asked finally, moving towards him.

"Do I have to have a reason?" he asked, looking up at her when she stopped in front of her bed. She said nothing, and he went on, "Actually, I wasn't even planning on coming here. I was just in Sherwood, sort of close to here, when I happened to see you and Guy of Gisbourne walking about, and...I thought I'd stop by."

"Just because I was walking with Guy of Gisbourne?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her. She raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he could actually be...jealous.

He adjusted himself on her bed, fiddling with her pillows and ultimately putting them back the way they were. "Well, you know, I was just... wondering why he was here." He glanced up at her eagerly. "So, why was he here?"

She bit her lip. She hadn't told him this yet. She didn't think he'd much care anyway, but now...she didn't want to tell him. "He's here, because...we're sort of...well, he's courting me," she said, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"Courting you?" Robin asked. He nearly threw himself off the other side of the bed and stood with his hands on his hips. "What right does he have to be courting you?"

She threw her hands up into the air, suddenly annoyed. He was always like that! He never so much as told her he cared, but if she mentioned any of the men she would actually be expected to marry, he exploded. "As much as anyone else!" she shouted at him.

He shook his head at her. "No," he said firmly, like a disapproving parent. "He's a Norman—"

"I'm half Norman, Robin!"

"Not like him! He's just a tool. He'll do anything the sheriff tells him to do just so he can be higher up in power and influence, because that's all he is—a power hungry bloody Norman dog!"

There was a pause of silence for a moment. "Robin, they used to call you a Saxon dog," she reminded him in a soft voice. "Didn't you say that you wouldn't be like them?"

He waved his hands in the air. "All right, I overstepped, but Marian—"

"It's not like we're getting married."

"But that's what courting leads to, isn't it? I don't know why you'd be courting him if you never intend to at least consider marrying him."

She bit her lip. She didn't want to answer his questions about it. She didn't even want to think about them. "Well—maybe I am considering it," she said, crossing her arms. "That doesn't mean it's going to happen."

He stared at her and then sat back down on the bed, moving forward until he was sitting right in front of her with his legs crossed. "Marian, do you like him?" he asked, looking intently into her face.

"Well—yes," she said, moving away from him a little. He was rather uncomfortably close.

"Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "You don't sound terribly convincing."

"He's kind to me. He talks to me, and he listens to me, and...I don't think he would ever hurt me." She said the last nearly biting her tongue. She remembered the time he threw her to the ground. It hurt. But it was half a year ago, and he'd barely touched her since. She didn't believe he'd do it again.

"You don't think he would hurt you. But are you certain? You ought to _know_ he wouldn't hurt you if you're going to marry him."

"I'm not going to marry him! And no, he...he wouldn't hurt me."

He stared at her a moment longer, occasionally dipping forward to look into her eyes, as if he was searching for something specifically within them. "Do you love him?" he asked at last, peering at her.

"I—" She cast her eyes around the room, searching for some distraction. She didn't want to answer the question. It was complicated, she could tell him. A lot of things were complicated. "I think...he loves me," she said, glancing at him and quickly away again.

"That's not what I asked, Marian."

He peered into her eyes again, and when she finally returned his gaze, she had to answer honestly, "No."

"Well, then don't marry him!" Robin said, jumping off the bed again, this time on her side. "And don't court him! Next time he comes, just show him the door. Don't lead him on. Men don't enjoy being led on." He moved towards the window with a jaunty pace.

"Neither do women," she countered, almost under her breath.

He turned back towards her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She sighed. "Nothing. But Robin..."

He watched her. "What?" he finally asked when she didn't go on.

She pursed her lips together, not sure what to say. _It's complicated, _but he already knew that. _I can't wait forever for you, _but that sounded cruel, and she wasn't sure she meant it. "I...I just..." She trailed off into a sigh.

"Come find me when you think of it," Robin said, coming towards her. "I'd stay longer, but...I actually was supposed to meet Little John and Will somewhere, and...I think they'll be waiting." He smiled at her, winked, and then hesitated. Then he seemed to make up his mind and came a step closer. He lifted her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers. Before she could say anything, he let go and dashed towards her window, and then he was gone.

She was alone, again, but she glanced down at her hand and smiled. It was only on her fingers, but his kiss would leave a mark that felt a hundred times warmer than Guy's.

* * *

Update! Yay! This sort of seems like two separate scenes, but they're too short to actually be separate, so. Yeah. You should review, because I love you all! And I'm hoping to maybe start updating at a more regular pace...? We'll see.


	12. Hesitation

December 12 - I carried it in my pocket.

"I heard you used to be a woodcutter," the boy said, a bit nervously, tugging at the sparse hairs on his chin.

Robin nodded and considered the most polite way to tell the boy to go home to his parents. He didn't like sounding cold and mean spirited, especially to such an exuberant young man, but really. He couldn't have been much more than fifteen. It just wasn't right to become an outlaw at that age. Certainly, it might seem daring and adventurous, but it wasn't all it seemed. It was dangerous. It was painful. He rubbed at the long scab on his arm and winced. It had been a rather deep cut.

"Well—I'm a woodcutter, too," the boy said, standing up straighter, grinning as he pointed his thumb into his chest. "And I carve things, sometimes. I made this for you."

He held out some small object, which Robin took automatically, without even looking at it. He stared at the boy, who was staring at him, and then he remembered himself and looked down at the object. It was a wooden ring, carved out of...walnut, if he still knew his trees well enough. And he did. It was excellently made, actually, sanded down very smooth, with an intricate leaf design on the outside and inside the inscription, "Hood."

The boy was twisting his lip between his teeth. "Do you like it?" he asked, when Robin looked back at him.

He nodded. "Yes, it—it—" He found himself pulling at the stubble on his own chin. He never knew what to say to children. Of course, the boy wasn't exactly a child, but he was still young and had a childish way about him. Childish admiration. Childish goodwill. But he supposed, sometimes, it was nice to be admired. "You have a lot of talent," he said, looking the boy in the eyes. "Keep working at it. I was never this good at carving. I just...cut wood. But you...you have talent. You could certainly make something of yourself when you grow up." He tried to stress this part especially, that the boy could not be an outlaw, that he would return home and grow up and do something better with his life.

The boy just smiled. "So you like it?" he asked.

He nodded. "Yes, I do. Thank you." He smiled; the boy smiled back even wider. "Now...run along," he said, with a rather awkward motioning, as he glanced backward in search of Little John or Will. When he turned back, the boy was already gone. He blinked a few times and then spotted a slight rustling in the trees to his left, but it was very slight. He shook his head. The boy was fast.

"So, you sent him on his way?" Little John said, coming around his right side with crossed arms. Will was right behind him but came around his left side. He mentally noted to not stand facing one direction in the open for so long. If they had been his enemies, he'd be dead by now.

"He looked like a nice fellow," Will commented, glancing around, "if a bit young. What did you say to him, anyway?"

"I don't know," he replied, frowning a little. "I didn't really say much of anything. He didn't say much of anything either. Didn't even want to join, apparently."

"Oh? Then why was he here?" Will asked, raising one eyebrow.

Robin shrugged and held up the ring. "He gave me this. He's a woodcutter, apparently." Will swiped the ring out of his fingers, and he crossed his arms and turned toward Little John. "Does it ever occur to you that if adolescent boys are finding us this easily, we must not be hidden very well? Perhaps we should move."

"Move? And build a new lodge somewhere else? That would be an awful lot of work, wouldn't it? And aren't you rather attached to this piece of land?"

"Well, a bit," he said, letting out his breath. "I'd get confused if we moved."

Little John snorted. "You've practically lived your whole life in this forest, Robin. You know it like the back of your hand. I don't think you'd get confused."

"Maybe not _confused_," he said, walking a few paces and glancing at the trees. "Just—you know. I'd start walking northwest, counting my paces, and when I got to 553, I wouldn't be at the same spot I'm used to."

"Marian's estate?"

"Well—the edge of the forest. Which happens to be on her estate," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

"You really are hopeless, Robin."

"This ring doesn't fit very well," Will said abruptly, breaking into the conversation.

Robin turned back to the tall, thin man with a frown. "Well, it wasn't made for you, was it?" He took the ring back from Will and tried putting it on his own finger. It really was small. It didn't even begin to go over the knuckle on his ring finger. He tried it on his other hand, but with no success.

"Apparently, it wasn't made for you either," Will said, crossing his arms.

He shrugged, tossing the ring up into the air and catching it again as it came back down. "I don't see how it would fit anyone, then. I have very slim fingers, you know." He smiled at Will and then held out his hand to actually examine them. He did like thinking of his fingers as long and slim. Marian told him he had nice hands once. And then she changed her mind and told him he had too many calluses.

Will began looking at his own hands them, holding them out away from his face. "Well, what about my fingers, Robin? I think they're pretty long, don't you?"

He glanced at Will's fingers with a slight frown and then heard Little John give a pointed cough. He glanced over at the large man.

"It would probably fit a woman," Little John said, stepping toward him.

"I suppose so," he said and turned back to Will's fingers.

Little John glanced above his head, over to Will, who dropped his hands to his sides. They exchanged some sort of odd glancing and eyebrow raising, and then both of them turned on him. They crossed their arms at nearly the exact same moment and stared.

"What?" he asked, backing away from them, suddenly wary. "You don't have to stare at me like vultures. Honestly."

Little John just raised his eyebrows. "You know what we're thinking, don't you?"

"Not really. Care to explain?"

"Your ring would fit a woman," Little John said, slower this time.

"Yes," he said, taking another step backward. "So you said. An apt observation. But not much to do with anything. Alan already gave Lady Marjorie a wedding ring. And I don't think she would want one that says Hood, anyway."

Little John rolled his eyes again and spoke in a slow, even voice. "We're talking about Marian."

"What about her?"

"I think you know," both men said at the same time.

He meant to shrug off the remark, but his eyes caught on the ring, and he began estimating the size of her finger. He pictured her hands and thought of the way her fingers felt that night when she'd oddly slipped them between his own. It did seem like it could be the right size, though it was difficult to say without her actually being there to try it on.

He blinked suddenly, and wondered what in the world he was thinking. A wooden ring for a nice, woodland wedding? Ridiculous. What were Little John and Will thinking? He glanced back up at them. They were still eyeing him pretentiously. "Yes. Well. It's my ring. If Marian wants a wooden ring, she'll just have to find that boy, and—"

"Robin."

"What?" he asked, exasperatedly, throwing both his arms up into the air.

"Why don't you just marry her already?" Will asked.

"Why don't I just marry her already?" he sputtered, his voice louder than he intended. He was tired of being told to marry Marian. Of course he wanted to marry her! But it just wasn't practical. It would never work. It was reckless and dangerous, and—there were rules with his way of life. Everything he did came with a consequence. Why did no one see that besides himself? "Why don't I just hand myself over to the sheriff, or better yet, why don't I just march in to see Prince John? Honestly! I don't know what you're thinking!"

"You love her," Little John said.

"Yes, so?"

"She loves you," Will said.

"I don't know that," he said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

"You could ask her. You looked about ready to shoot something when you told us Guy was courting her. I'm sure it would be easier for her to wait if she knew she was actually waiting for something."

"Oh yes, I'll just say to her, 'Oh, Marian, let's get married. I have nothing to offer you and no way to support you, but we can live in Sherwood and hide from the world!' It would never work. They'd find us. Adolescent boys find us! And there'd be hell to pay if she went missing. Guy _loves_ her, apparently. And I'm already not on the best of terms with him, so he wouldn't be happy, and he'd recruit the sheriff, and they'd all come looking for us, ready to kill. I'm too young to die. And I don't want her to be a widow, anyway. It wouldn't be a happy end to our very short marriage."

Will and Little John exchanged glances.

"What? Even if they didn't find us, I couldn't just stay here and lie low with her. I have to keep fighting. I can't just give it up or move away just for her. People are dying. I have to fight for them. And if I'm still fighting, there is a high chance that I'm eventually going to die. And I'm fine with that, but I can't—"

"Didn't you just say you're too young to die?" Will interrupted.

"I'm too young to die pointlessly. Marrying her would be—would be—" he paused and sighed, "heaven, but I just can't do it. It wouldn't be fair to her. I want to give her the world, but—but there's England. England is dying every day. I have to do something about that. I just—I can't..."

"You can't what?"

He took in a sharp breath at the sound of Marian's voice and momentarily froze. Then he glanced at Little John and Will and glared at them. They could have warned him. What if she'd heard his entire speech? When he finally looked at her, though, she looked clueless. "Marian," he said, smiling. He found himself hiding the ring behind his back, though he wasn't entirely sure why. "When—when did you get here?"

"Just now," she said, glancing from him to Little John and Will, smiling at all of them. "You were saying something about England dying and not being able to do something or other. Really, Robin, you should try being less of a pessimist."

She smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back at her in what was probably a very foolish looking grin, but he didn't care.

"I brought you flowers," she said after a moment. "Your lodge gets so bare and dreary looking, especially in the fall when there's so little daylight. So I came the long way through the meadow and hung them up to dry around the lodge. You don't mind, do you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Of course not. Thank you." He smiled again.

"Well, we'll leave you two alone for a bit," Little John said, leading Alan away with him. "Always good to see you, Marian."

"You too, John, Will," she said, smiling at them. Then she turned back to him, still smiling.

He didn't know what to say. Other times he could think of a hundred clever things to say to her, but he hadn't been expecting to see her, and he was still rather caught up in what he'd been saying to Little John and Will. That he couldn't marry her. That he'd never be able to. It wasn't practical. It was too reckless. And now here she was in front of him. He loved her, and something in her smile told him she'd say yes if he asked, and the ring was right there in his hands.

It was only four words. "Marian," he began and felt the smooth wood between his fingers.

"Yes?" she asked, but he couldn't go on.

He slipped the ring into his pocket and thought of what exactly he wanted to say to her. _Someday, Marian, I'm going to ask you to marry me. Someday, I'm going to stop breaking your heart and my heart both. Someday. _It was a promise. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. Someday soon. But he couldn't tell her. He just smiled at her and took her hand. "I'm glad you're here, Marian."

She smiled back at him, a bit confused. "Well, then I'm glad to be here."

* * *

Thank you to all who reviewed last time, and please, do it again!


	13. Distraction

May 19 - One Day...

"You really shouldn't be here," Robin said once again, peering at her through the tree branches.

Marian smiled, a sunny, lazy sort of smile. She was determined not to let his general protesting bother her today. Besides, he looked rather adorable when he was concerned about something. "Yes, Robin," she said complacently. "You've told me. Several times."

"Well, I mean it," he said, adjusting himself in the tree. "More than usual. These are people you know. And they're going to be _right there_." He pointed toward the ground in a way that made her wonder where else they would be. Floating in the sky above them, perhaps? Or skittering across the branches like squirrels?

"But you told me yourself, Robin: people never look up." She shifted herself as well, moving closer to the trunk of the tree, away from the part of her branch that was swaying rather too much for her taste.

"But—what if you fall?" Robin asked. "What if you just drop down in front of them? What will they think then?"

His raised eyebrows and parted lips were enough to make her nearly choke with laughter. Holding it in, though, she decided on a different tactic—one that would unnerve him even more. "Robin," she said, making her voice sweet and her eyes large and affected, "do you really think I'm so inadequate at climbing trees?"

He blinked at her a few times before answering. "I—well—no, but—"

"Perhaps you should give me some lessons," she said timidly and watched him blink a few more times at the way she let her eyelashes just brush against her cheeks as she glanced down.

She'd attempted mild flirtations with Robin before and watched him look confused and nervous and altogether out of sorts. It wasn't something she did often, but she'd discovered yesterday that with just a few flutters of her eyelashes and perfectly timed smiles, Guy would do nearly anything for her. And of course, she was curious to see the effect it had on Robin. It made her smile to see him stuttering in confusion.

"Anyway," she said after a moment, falling back to her usual demeanor, "I don't think I'm going to fall out of the tree. And I always wanted to be here when you're all dropping down from above and demanding things of the nobility." She paused. "When the nobility isn't only myself, that is."

She frowned at him, and he grinned back at her in his usual style. "That's for practice, Marian. Showing the new boys how it's done."

"It seems to me that you do it a bit too often for just practice," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "But in any case, here I am. I'll stay up here. I won't bother you or get in the way. I promise." She smiled sweetly again, with just a touch of flirtation, enough to be persuasive but not send him into stutters.

He gave a small sigh. "Well. I'll hold you to it." He changed positions again, standing up on the branch he was on, torso pressed against the trunk of the tree. He held his bow tightly, an arrow notched between his fingers, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"You look like you're going to shoot someone," she said, standing up as well, though rather less steadily than he did. "I thought you were just taking money from these people, not killing them."

"We are," he said without glancing at her. "But we have to let them know we're serious, so they don't take out swords and kill us the moment we hit the ground. Warning shots can be very effective. And they add a touch of flair to the situation." He smiled as he glanced at her and winked.

Marian couldn't help smiling back at him. She tried to move closer, her fingers clenching the branches above her as she tiptoed on the ones beneath her. But when she glanced down, it suddenly seemed like a terribly long way down—a long way to fall. She could see herself dead, hanging on branches that contorted her body into strange positions. She swallowed—hard. It had been a long time since she'd been climbing trees.

"Look up." Robin's hand pressed on her shoulder, and she wondered how he could look so comfortable with so little to balance on. He smiled into her eyes. "No one looks up, remember? So don't be like everyone else. Looking up will take away the dizziness."

She took his advice, tilting her head toward the aeons of green above her. The sunlight on her face felt like the fires in her hearth at home. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and she felt her heartbeat slowing down. She looked at Robin. He was watching her, half way on his branch and half way on hers, and so close she felt her heart beat a little faster. But he let go of her shoulder abruptly, glanced up for a moment, smiling at the branches and sunlight she'd seen and then turned back to the ground with his bow ready in his hands.

Sighing, Marian found a place to sit on the branch above the one she'd been standing on. She could see the ground from there, the slight path that had been beaten down by nobility on strolls or processions through the forest. Her head was next to Robin's side. She could have leaned her head against him if she wanted to. She supposed that would offset his shooting. Even so... she felt like having a bit of fun.

"Robin," she said, smiling as she glanced up at him, "what exactly is going to happen here?" It was a pathetic question, but she said it with the most sincere tone she could manage.

He glanced at her, eyebrows jerking down. "We're...jumping on Lord Andrew and taking the money he meant to deliver to the sheriff. Didn't I already say that?"

"Of course," she said, smiling. "And who are you giving the money to again?"

"The Haywoods. The father is going to hang if he doesn't pay his taxes soon." He scratched at the back of his hair, uncomfortably. "They have...two nine year old boys. And some even younger children besides."

She pursed her lips together. Robin's father died when he was nine. "Well. I'm sure you'll take care of them." She smiled at him, trying to make him smile back at her. After a moment, he did, but only halfheartedly.

"I can't take care of everyone, Marian." His voice was low, and she knew that was what bothered him the most. He'd take care of all of England if he could. But it just wasn't possible.

"One family isn't everyone," she reminded him, though she knew that wasn't really the heart of the matter.

He rubbed his temples, letting his arms out of their fixed position for a moment. "It gets to be, though." There was a long, quiet moment before he looked back at her and shrugged. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to enjoy this."

"I am enjoying this!" she said, smiling again as she glanced at the ground in anticipation. If Robin was having one of his depressing days—and looked very much like he was—well, that just wouldn't be allowed. She was going to be absurdly, exuberantly happy, and she was going to make him be happy, too. "So, Robin, when are they coming?"

"Sometime this afternoon."

That wasn't very informative. "But _when_ this afternoon?"

"I don't know."

"So we could be up here for hours, waiting for them to get here."

"Yes." He stared at the ground and the shrubbery, waiting for any sign of movement. He scarcely moved a muscle. And he did this often, apparently.

"So, what are we doing until they come?" she prodded, unsure if she could withstand hours of sitting in a tree with an still, taciturn Robin.

"We're waiting," he said, still not looking at her.

She twisted her mouth around. "I don't like waiting."

"That's too bad. You'll have to get used to it."

"Robin, that's no way to talk to a lady!" she exclaimed, having a bit of an explosion, for lack of anything else to do.

He glanced at her shrugged. "We shouldn't be talking anyway. We don't want to alert them to our presence."

She looked down at the ground. It was devoid of any movement, save that of squirrels and things, running about their usual business. "There's no one there to alert."

"But there could be." He turned away from her, back to his vigilant watch.

She sighed. "Robin."

He sighed back at her, with a bit more of an annoyed sound, and turned to look at her once more. "What?"

"I don't like waiting."

"Yes. You told me."

"But I mean it. More than usual." She let her lips split into a cheeky smile.

He looked at her for a long moment, and she could tell he was fighting a smile. She kept grinning at him until he couldn't keep it back anymore. He smiled, even as he shook his head at her and held his finger to his lips, refusing to reply.

"Robin, do you enjoy this sitting out here for hours on end, doing nothing at all?" she asked before he could turn away from her again.

He looked at her and then off into the leaves beyond her. "Sometimes," he said slowly. "It gives me time to think. And it's simple. I know what I'm doing and how to do it and why I'm doing it. It's reassuring."

Marian thought about that. She supposed he would like things being that simple, that planned in advance, sensical. It seemed somewhat monotonous to her, but she could see the comfort in that.

"Of course, it gets tiresome at times, too."

She glanced at him. She hadn't expected him to say much more about it, but he had, a little, and it opened up an entire new realm of things to ask him about. "What would you rather be doing?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. What would _you_ rather be doing?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she prepared herself to say something daring. "I'd rather be with you." She rose her eyebrows just a hair above usual and bit her lip as she gave him a glance half way between shy and flirtatious.

He blinked at her. "You _are_ with me, Marian."

She giggled. "Yes, I know that, Robin. I mean when I'm doing tiresome, monotonous sorts of things—like I do most of the time, really. I'd much rather be spending all my time with you. Wouldn't you rather be with me?" Perhaps she was going too far. Robin certainly looked uncomfortable. But she felt like—like there were a million colors flooding through her veins, and she wanted to be reckless and wild and say what she really thought instead of what she should think.

"Well—yes. I suppose so. But that's not really...it doesn't really—we should be quiet."

She sighed as he returned to his waiting stance, looking away from her. She was quiet. She was very quiet for a very long moment. But it was so tiresome. "Robin."

He didn't even say anything, just looked at her.

She smiled at him. "Do you think they'll be coming along soon, then?"

"I would think so, yes."

With nothing more to say, she scooted over on her branch, just a bit closer to him. She glanced up at him, sighed, and when he didn't glance down at her she leaned her head against his side.

Robin jerked away from her like her touch was fire. "Marian, what are you doing?" he asked, almost shouting at her.

She tried her best to look innocent. "Nothing."

"Yes, you are," he said, coming closer to her and squatting to be down to her level. "You're—you're smiling at me and batting your eyelashes and talking about how you'd rather be with me, and now you're—you're...invading my space!" He remembered to bring his voice down to a whisper this time, in an effort to stay quiet. But it was a rather loud whisper.

She smiled at him, the same smile he was accusing her of, she supposed. Really, she was rather impressed with his outburst. She'd never seen him look so agitated before. He kept staring at her, and she forced herself to shrug. "I'm just a bit tired of waiting, that's all." She meant it in more ways than one.

"Well—then you shouldn't have come, if you can't stand waiting."

"Robin," she said imploringly, swinging her legs in the space beneath her branch, "that hurts."

"Well, it's the truth. You're just—being a distraction."

"Am I?" She was rather pleased with this idea.

He glanced at her, holding his bow in front of him, as if to ward her away.

She was about to give up on him and let him stay quiet and alert and whatnot, but something in his eyes caught in hers, and she found herself running her fingers through her hair as she spoke softly, breathlessly. "Am I so distracting to you, Robin?"

"We need to be quiet," he said, ignoring her question.

She bit lip for just a second, then shrugged. "You'll have to make me be quiet, Robin." It was somewhat of a dare, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was daring him to do.

He looked at her with a rather moody expression. "I can do that," he said in a low, serious voice. "But you won't like it."

She laughed. "What are you going to do, gag me?"

"No."

She watched as he dropped his bow and arrow into one arm and held them at his side opposite from her. He put one foot on the branch she was sitting on and squatted beside her. His eyes came closer. She felt her heart pound against her chest. His lips came closer and closer and touched.

She could scarcely think. He was kissing her. Robin was kissing her. But he never—but they weren't—but she was kissing him back, and nothing else seemed to matter.

She heard voices, faintly, as if from far away, and the sound of leaves moving. She felt Robin's arm moving and wondered what he was doing and if she ought to slap him, but in the next moment he pulled away and she heard the twang of his bow. Then he dropped down to the branch below her, and the next, and the next, until he was half way down the tree and shouting at Lord Andrew with all his men beside him on the ground.

She watched them in a daze and touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. She wasn't quite sure what this meant. But that was certainly one way to make her be quiet.

* * *

Marian is such a minx in this one. Please review, as always.


	14. Friends

March 30 - "So, these were my friends…" (after John Balaban)

Marian, my love,

I am truly and terribly sorry that I kissed you and then claimed it to be a meaningless kiss, intended only to make you shut your mouth for once. It was a cruel and heartless trick of mine, and I have come to the conclusion that you must have been gravely offended, judging by the manner in which you stormed away and then, unfortunately, tripped over that offending tree root. At least there wasn't a pile of mud like last time. But alas, that is neither here nor there.

The fact is, Marian darling, that my claim of our kiss being meaningless was a lie I spoke so that I could hide my passionate feelings and insecurities behind it. It is unfortunate that I am not man enough to discuss how I truly feel with you. Usually, I cannot even manage to accept my true feelings, and generally try to hide them, as obvious as they are, from even my very best of friends: Will Scarlet, Little John, and Alan-a-dale. Perhaps if I had the courage and bravery that they possess, I would have spoken to you long before this day.

I have come to realize now that I cannot allow myself to injure you simply to avoid injuring my own pride. I know that I occasionally pretend to be a daring, obnoxious criminal, but the truth is that I am little more than an adoring puppy, and I cannot stand the pain of knowing that you think of ill of me.

I have prepared myself, in order to do away with our quarrel, to tell you how I feel.

Marian Elizabeth Fitzgerald, you are the love of my life. Ever since my eight year old eyes set upon you, that long ago day, they have been entranced, and it is with great difficulty that I ever turn away. Indeed, I cannot imagine us living separate lives. If you were to ever stop visiting me here in the Sherwood, I fear that I would cease to live my life and merely wander aimlessly in the drunken stupor that Little John's ales so easily provide.

I burn for you, Marian, in my very soul. You complete me. My essence cannot go on without you. It is with these sentiments that I ask you – no, I beg you – to be my wife. End the agony I feel every moment that I am not with you. End my torment. As any of my men know, when you're not here, I spend most of my time moping about the lodge, as a truly tortured soul.

Answer promptly, Marian dear, and we shall live as the happiest, most impossibly in love couple in all of England. If, by any chance, I begin derailing you with reasons why our love can never be the moment you say yes, please just ignore me. It is simply my usual insecurity and paranoia regarding the subject showing again. The real issue at hand is my fear of commitment. But I promise I will commit to you, Marian, my one true love.

Yours forever and always,

Robin Hood

-----------------

"How's that?" Will asked, passing the letter over to Robin. The three of them—Little John, Alan, and himself all smirked at each other.

Robin took the letter from his hands, read it through quickly, and tore it in half.

"We spent a long time on that!" Alan protested. "Agonized over every word! And you just tore it up, in a matter of moments."

"I thought it was a good letter," Little John said, nodding.

"I think it would mend things nicely."

Robin stared at them all. He glanced down at the letter again. "My 'fear of commitment'?" he asked, looking up with one raised eyebrow. "And—" he held the two halves together and squinted at the line where he'd torn the paper. "I'm little more than an adoring puppy? Not man enough to talk about my feelings?"

The three men shrugged. "Well, it's all rather true, isn't it?"

Robin blinked. Then he threw the letter halves on the floor and stormed out the door, rather in the manner Marian had stormed away two days before. He was back in the doorway a second after he'd disappeared. "And I don't pretend to be a criminal! I am a criminal! And you would do well to remember it!" He walked away again and slammed the door behind him.

The three men glanced at each other.

"Moping," Little John said, sighing. "Can't even appreciate a bit of humor. After all we've done for him."

"I thought it was a good letter," Alan said

Will nodded at both of them, pondering. "I wonder if he'll trip over a root," he said, thinking of Marian.

* * *

*giggle* I'll be back with something a bit more, um...relevant, next time. Oh, and I'm sorry that I didn't reply to any reviews last chapter. I...was going to. And then...I didn't? If you wrote a long one and are upset with me, tell me this time, and I will be sure to reply to this _and _last chapter's review.


	15. Chapter 15

This would have been your Valentine's Day present (I even used the Valentine's Day prompt!), but...I was talked into watching classic Doctor Who. And then pairs ice skating was on, and pairs ice skating is just...love. So this is your Two Days After Valentine's Day present instead! Enjoy! :D Review!

* * *

February 14 – Someone brings you flowers.

Climbing a wall while carrying a basket was not an easy task. Robin bit down harder with his teeth and tasted the reeds the basket was made of. It wasn't a very pleasant taste. Wincing, he finally reached the window, gripped onto it, and threw himself into the room. He landed awkwardly on his side, rolled over, and came up with the basket still intact in his mouth, looking for Marian. She had to be at least somewhat impressed with him.

He spotted her sitting on her bed, blinking at him. He could hardly keep his mouth from grinning as he spat out the handles of the basket. He remembered now precisely why he'd come. "Hello, Marian!" he said loudly, as he came to stand in front of her.

"Robin..." she said, rising to her feet. She wasn't smiling back at him, but he could fix that.

"No, sit down," he said, dropping the basket on her bed and gently pushing her back down.

She looked up at him with a puzzled expression, one eyebrow raised and the other lowered.

He couldn't help thinking that she didn't look very happy to see him. He was bursting at the seams to see her, and she just sat there staring at him. Of course, he didn't really expect her to be jubilant about it—that's what he'd come here to remedy, but...well, he'd have to _really_ remedy it.

On impulse, he grabbed both of her hands in his and leaned in close to look into her eyes. "Marian," his said, with his best sincere voice, "I realize that I have acted irresponsibly, and that you are, quite within reason, still unhappy with me. Personally, I think two weeks is a bit of a long time to ignore me because of it, but—"

"I wasn't ignoring you," Marian cut in. "I was busy. It's not like I usually spend every day with you."

He watched her for a moment before speaking. Her eyes were on him, eyebrows forming sharp lines. She was going to be stubborn about it, then. He sighed. But he was going to make things better, if he had to stay here all day to do it. "I'm sorry," he said. He knew for a fact that she _did_ strive to spend every day with him and that now she hadn't dropped by or even sent a message by Much for two weeks, but he decided not to argue the point. "But that, Marian, is why I have come: to make it up to you."

He reached for the basket and opened it. "I brought you a honey cake." He watched Marian's eyes widen as took it out of the basket, sitting carefully on the one nice plate they had in Sherwood. It was probably Marian's plate, come to think of it. Well, he could leave it here with her. The cake itself was...a bit oddly shaped, perhaps, but he'd done his best.

"Made it myself. Just for you." He looked at Marian again with a smile.

She glanced at him and shook her head a little, like she just didn't know what to make of it. "A honey cake," she said slowly. "You...made this?"

He nodded. "Marjorie told me what to do, but I did it all myself. She wasn't even around for it."

Marian glanced back at the cake with a sharp glance. "I'm a little afraid to eat it." She bit her lip and looked up at him. "Could I just have a small piece?"

"Certainly," he said, and he pulled a knife from his belt, smoothly cutting a thin piece for her.

She took it, and he slid the knife back into its place and watched her. She looked at the cake in her hand and didn't move.

He crossed his arms. "I can make an excellent deer roast. What makes you think I can't make a cake?"

"I didn't say anything," Marian said, frowning at him. As if to prove her point, she took a large bite and chewed vigorously. He watched for her expression to look pleasantly surprised, delighted, something of that sort. Instead, she looked...confused, and her mouth and nose screwed up. Swallowing seemed to be a difficult feat, and when she finally finished, she just stared at him.

Feeling a little panicked now, he took the rest of the piece out of her hand and put it in his mouth. He nearly spit it right back out, but managed to swallow with a grimace. "Its disgusting!" he exclaimed, glancing worriedly at Marian. He ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand. I did everything Marjorie said...I thought, anyway."

"Apparently not," Marian said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He looked at her and felt the good mood he'd come in with deteriorating. He'd come to make things up with her, and instead he'd brought her something to eat that he could barely stomach himself. He had no back up plan, and she had no reason to forgive him. He'd ruined everything.

"Wouldn't flowers have been easier? Guy always brings me flowers when he wants to impress me."

It was then that he noticed the flowers on the table at the other side of her bed—bright and colorful and probably smelling nice too. He looked back at Marian, crossing his arms. She was smiling. That was the last straw. "I'm not Guy," he said, growling the words through his teeth. "Since you're still courting him...that's one thing I'd like you to get through your head. I'm not him."

He didn't raise his voice even a little, but he saw how the tone effected Marian. She moved away from him a little, eyes widening. Well, she should have known he didn't like hearing about Guy. He'd told her once to stop courting him, but she hadn't. She clearly didn't care what he thought about the matter.

He realized then that he'd kissed someone else's...well, he didn't quite know what to call it. Whatever Marian was to Guy, it was apparently more than she was to him, anyway. He had a ring for her in his pocket, and she was courting someone else. He looked at her again and felt...odd, about the whole situation.

She looked rather uncomfortable herself. "Robin," she began, but he suddenly shook his head at her. He wouldn't have kissed her in the first place if she hadn't come frolicking at him with her smiles, intent on driving him to distraction. And while she was courting another man, for pity's sake!

He threw the remainder of the cake back into the basket and started for the window. He needed to leave, to sort things out. He'd come here to apologize to her, and now he was leaving feeling more upset with her than he ever had.

"Robin!" He heard her jump off her bed, and then felt her hand grab onto his arm. "Don't go," she said.

He glanced at her, didn't say anything. He had nothing to say.

She dropped his arm and bit her lip for a moment. "It was sweet of you to make the cake," she said finally, hesitating, "even if it wasn't very good. And...it's not like you really needed to make anything up to me anyway. You wouldn't have kissed me if I hadn't been so—so..." she trailed off, glancing at the floor.

He kept staring at her, jaw tightening. "Why did you do it?" he asked at last

She glanced back up at him with her mouth open. She closed it once and opened it again before speaking. "I...I was curious."

He scratched his hair again, frowning. "You were curious. Of what you would have to do to make me lose my focus entirely and kiss you? Do you do this with all the men you know?"

"No," she said, laughing a little now, uncomfortably. "Just you." She paused. "And...Guy."

"Guy," he said. He looked again at the flowers on the table and frowned. He didn't like the taste of that man's name in his mouth.

"Robin," Marian said. "We're not...serious. Well, maybe Guy is, but I'm not. I have to look like I'm considering marriage. If people ask me about it...it's better to have something to say. If I don't, they start asking questions...what I do all the time, and...I don't have answers. With Guy...I don't need to have excuses. Courting him simplifies things. Please...try to understand."

He pursed his lips together. The problem was that he did understand. And if worst came to worst, he'd rather have her marry Guy and be safe and happy than see her wasting her life waiting for him. Still, he wasn't happy about it. "I don't like you getting so...close to him. It feels like..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Like what, Robin?"

He looked at her, into her eyes and smiled—one of the most uncomfortable smiles he'd ever smiled. "I don't want to lose you. Two weeks without my best friend was hard enough. I don't know what I'd do in a lifetime."

It was one of the most honest things he'd ever said to her, and he could see her struggling with what to say back. She looked at the floor for a long moment, bit her lip, twisted her fingers together, and finally looked back up at him. "With him...it wasn't like it was with you. I just made him run about and do foolish things for me. Nothing else." She smiled at him, a little, and she could see she was trying hard to make him smile back.

He didn't quite feel like smiling back, but he forced his mouth to do it anyway. "Do I kiss better than him, at least?" he asked, finally grinning at her like usual, as a blush formed on her cheeks.

"I don't know," she said firmly. "He hasn't kissed me on the lips."

He considered this for a moment, thinking that was something at least, then suddenly rose an eyebrow at her. "Where has he kissed you, then?"

The pink color on her cheeks heightened to a deep red as she rolled her eyes at him. "The cheek, Robin. Like a gentleman."

"Of course," he said. He moved to lean against the wall by the window. He glanced at his fingernails for a moment and then back to Marian. "Am I not a gentleman then?"

She smiled. "Well, you are a bit of a roguish outlaw, aren't you?"

He smiled, a little. "Yes. I am." He leaned back against the wall a little more. His eyes stopped on the flowers again. It still bothered him. "Marian," he said abruptly, glancing at her. "I'm going to bring you a bigger bouquet than that one. If I do, will you throw those out?"

She glanced at the flowers and back at him, frowning a little. "I...suppose so."

"Good," he said and pushed himself away from the wall, striding back to the window. "I'll be back, then." He was prepared to stick the basket in his mouth again and climb over, but he felt Marian's hand on his arm once again. He glanced at her.

"Robin," she said. She paused then, for a long moment, biting her lip. "I'm not sorry."

He looked at her and wondered if it would be all right for him to kiss her again. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk it, though. Words were better at the moment. He smiled at her. "Neither am I," he said, and with that, he stuck the basket back in his mouth and jumped over the side of the window.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a rainy day – April 4

Marian could feel her toes sinking into the mud. The wind blew raindrops at her, and they slid down her arms in cold rivulets. In the sky, a streak of white lightning ran jagged against the dark blue clouds, and somewhere out there, Robin was riding to meet her with gold in his saddlebag and a grin on his face.

"Marian, come inside!" Much called, sticking his head outside the door of the lodge. "You're getting soaked! Do you want to catch cold?"

She turned to face him and laughed. He had one eyebrow raised and the other lowered, his arms crossed one over the other, and he looked the picture of disapproval. "You sound like my father, Much. You look a bit like him as well."

Much dropped his arms and frowned at her a little before shaking his head. "Well, do you want to explain to your father why a day in your room made you violently ill?"

"I'll be fine," she said, smiling. "I told Robin I'd wait here for him."

Little John came to the door then, opening it the whole way and taking up nearly the whole frame, pushing Much to the side. "You know, I don't think Robin would be deeply offended if you moved a few feet to get out of the rain."

"What happened between the two of you, anyway?" Will asked, maneuvering his way past Little John, pushing him over a bit, so he could stand in the doorway also. "You hardly seemed capable of separating this morning, and now you can't wait to see him again. I think Robin will get here whether or not you stand outside waiting. Is it necessary that you see him before the rest of us?"

"Well—maybe."

Will raised an eyebrow.

She turned back into the rain as she smiled and felt her face flush. Something _was_ different, a bit. She kissed Robin before he went. On the cheek, of course. But still – they had their fingers laced together while they walked through the forest and he explained about Lord Edmonton's vault and how it would be easy for him to get there and back in little more than an hour, and then they could have a glorious feast despite the rain. He liked the rain, anyway, he said, because it made him feel wild, like he could do anything. She understood the feeling, standing here in the middle of it.

She heard Much behind her, sighing before spoke. "I suppose you won't be swayed. Would you like a cloak, at least? Robin isn't exactly known for his punctuality."

"Well," Will said, before she could reply, "he did look rather eager to return when he left. All, 'I'll be back in an hour or less, get the venison cooked; we'll be eating before you can say poached deer.'"

"It's been over an hour since then," Much said. "He exaggerated about how fast he could do this. He always exaggerates when she's around."

This last was said in a whisper, but Marian heard it quite well and turned to smile at the men before they could say anything else. "I don't want a cloak," she said. "He ought to be here soon. Now why don't you either go back in or come out and actually talk to me? It's rather awkward with you all whispering from the doorway."

Will and Much looked a tad sheepish.

"I don't want to go out in the rain," Will said after a moment. "I had more than enough rain earlier. Roast venison, during a thunderstorm. Honestly."

He moved inside the lodge, and she looked at Much, but he shook his head and followed Will. Little John was still there, just behind the doorway, and he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. "I'll join you for a moment, Marian."

She smiled as the large man came beside her. He was a good head taller than her, and he stood staring out into the forest and the rain.

"I like rain," she said.

"So does Robin," he said, glancing at her, "when he's not being depressed about everything. And the roof's not leaking."

She gave a loud laugh. She could picture him – easily picture him – staring gloomily into the rain and moaning about it ruining all his plans. But he was so adorable when he was worrying.

Little John looked at her. "You are different. You and him both. He doesn't usually have spur of the moment feasts and never right after a raid."

"I guess he must be feeling spontaneous."

"What happened?"

She smiled. She did want to tell someone. Not that there was much to tell, but...she'd like to say what there was. Little John was as good a confidant as any. "We had a picnic. Marjorie made all the food, thank goodness. And he brought me flowers. A giant bouquet of them. I had to split them between three different vases. That's all, really. But generally he doesn't do anything like that. So..." She shrugged.

"You started acting like sweethearts?"

She laughed again. "It's...not quite like that."

"Of course not," Little John said. He winked at her. "Well, it's good to see Robin looking lively again. He was getting a bit difficult to be around."

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Of course, she knew Robin could be difficult to be around, but generally when she saw him with his men, he tried to be the pillar of strength and reckless energy. And of course, he never talked about the relationship between him and herself.

Little John nodded. "Oh yes. I'll leave to your waiting."

He walked back to the lodge, and she was left alone. She was just beginning to shiver a little and think that maybe she wanted that cloak after all when she finally spotted Robin. Riding out of the forest at breakneck speed on the horse he'd borrowed from Much's father, hunched over the saddle. Hunched over the saddle. Too hunched.

Her heart beat once, and she couldn't move. He was closer now, and she could see that he was covered in mud from head to toe, his hair stained and matted with blood. Rivers of crimson coursed down his temple and around his eye, flowing, dripping.

When he was close enough, he swung out of the saddle and stumbled towards her. Before he reached her, he stopped and dropped his head down by his knees, breathing hard.

"Robin," she said, "you—you're bleeding." She held a trembling hand toward him but couldn't quite seem to reach.

"I know," he said, glancing up at her and looking back down at the ground. "I don't feel very well."

Little John came out of the lodge with Will and Much on heels. "What happened to you?" he asked.

Robin took a few more breaths before standing up straight. "A lot of things," he said, wiping a hand across his forehead. Some of the blood wiped off, but there was more to take its place, and Marian bit her lip – hard – just watching. "The raid wasn't as successful as I wanted it to be." He took another deep breath. "Will someone tie up the horse somewhere? And get the saddlebag. There's not much in it. But every penny counts."

The men stood staring for a moment. They were staring at the blood.

Robin raised an eyebrow at them. "Well, get to it," he said when no one moved.

Will and Much hurried to do his bidding, and Robin began limping toward the lodge. "I think I sprained my ankle," he said, as Little John and Marian followed him inside.

The lodge was crowded with the rest of the men, and they all stared as Robin entered, silence falling over the room. "Robin," Alan was the first to speak. "You look terrible. Are you...are you all right?"

Robin nodded. "Could someone get me a chair?" One was immediately pulled up for him, and he sat down heavily. "I didn't get more than a few pounds from the vault," he said. "The whole thing didn't go well. I got ambushed. Almost got shot in the head. It just grazed." He rubbed at some of the crusted blood in his hair.

Much and Will came in, and they stared again. The blood was so sharp and red against his skin.

"You shouldn't have gone alone," Will said. "But how did you—you said it would be easy."

Robin shrugged. "It wasn't. But it wasn't all bad." He grinned. "They gave me quite the chase. I felt like a real outlaw escaping and dashing off into the storm."

Will gave a small laugh, almost uncomfortably small, and Much smiled. "At least you're all right," he said. "We won't let you go anywhere yourself again."

Robin grinned. "Not anywhere? That'll get a bit tiring, won't it?" Some of the men laughed again, and he glanced around the room, ready to give orders again. "Someone want to get this blood off my face? And Little John, put the money with the rest of it. And let's get this feast started! You did prepare a feast, right?"

The lodge was suddenly bursting with motion. Little John picked up the saddlebag that Will and Much had brought in and took it into the back room. Marjorie started boiling water and looking for cloth to wash Robin's face. Will and Much went with Alan to see to the venison, and everyone else did their own jobs to get things prepared.

All Marian could do was stand and stare. If the arrow had been an inch to the right, or a bit farther down, or hit at a different angle, it wouldn't have mattered how long she stood waiting for Robin. He never would have come. He would have been lying dead in the mud somewhere, out in the cold rain, until they took his body and likely strung it up in town for everyone to see. He never would have come back.

With everyone at work, Robin finally gave her a glance that lasted longer than a moment. He smiled. "I see you waited for me, Marian, right where you said you would. I'm sorry I was a bit late."

She gave a tiny shake of her head. She wanted to touch him, to make sure he was really there. He'd told her before that what he did was dangerous, but she'd never really believed him until now. She'd never seen him bleed that much. "You—you're—" She bit her lip and quickly pulled another chair over and sat down beside him, staring at the wound on his head.

Robin's mouth twitched. "It's just blood, Marian," he said, giving a short laugh. "Head wounds bleed a lot, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're serious. Friar Tuck taught me that."

"But—" She still couldn't quite bring herself to speak. She reached out and almost touched his cheek, but she pulled her hand back before it reached.

Robin grabbed onto her hand and kissed it. "Anyway, I came back, didn't I?"

"But—what if you don't?" she asked. "What if someday you never come back, and—and you die out there somewhere, all alone, and—you leave _me_ alone." She was almost crying now. The tears were in her eyes and clouding over her vision. She felt afraid. More afraid than she'd ever been, even when those men had come looking for Robin and had a knife to her throat. At least he was there then. If either of them had died, they'd have died together.

When a tear finally spilled over and streamed down her cheek, Robin stood up quickly and winced at the pain in his ankle. But he didn't let it bother him more than a moment before he took both her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Marian," he said, looking into her eyes, "listen to me. I'm going to be very serious for a moment."

She nodded, biting her lip, waiting for him to say something awful.

"I might die any day," he said. "Any day, the sheriff, or Guy, or any of his men could come into Sherwood or pick me up on one of my raids, and I would hang as a traitor and a thief."

A few more tears spilled out, and Robin let go of one hand so she could wipe them away.

"Marian, I don't want you to be afraid for that," he went on. "I don't want to be the one you wait for that never comes home. But I want you to know that I...care about you. When I thought I might not make it...I kept thinking of you. I had to come back for you. And I'll always be there for you in any way I can. But I don't know how much that'll be." He paused, pursing his lips, and his eyes searched hers.

She nodded at him and then realized he expected her to say something. "I—I don't care," she said. She straightened the sleeves of his shirt, just wanting to touch him, somehow. "I..." She paused, looked into his eyes. "You're all I want," she said finally.

He stared at her for a long moment, with one of his rather stricken looks, and for a moment she thought he'd just walk away. But he didn't. He smiled. And then he kissed her, on the lips, and she kissed him back.

A cheer went up around the lodge, but all she cared about was the sound of his heartbeat.

* * *

Saaap.


End file.
